"I repeat, he seemed to us gloomy rather than gay," retorted Apollonius,
with annoyance; and Pancrates added:

"If he does really know how to jest he certainly did not prove it to us."

"Not out of ill-will," laughed the Gaul, "you do not know him, but I--I
am his friend and may follow wherever--he goes. Now only wait and I will
tell you a few stories about him. If I chose I could describe his whole
soul to you as if it lay there on the surface of the wine in my cup.
Once in Rome he went to inspect the newly-decorated baths of Agrippa, and
in the undressing-room he saw an old man, a veteran who had fought with
him somewhere or other. My memory is greatly admired, but his is in no
respect inferior. Scaurus was the old man's name--yes--yes, Scaurus.
He did not observe Caesar at first, for after his bath his wounds were
burning and he was rubbing his back against the rough stone of a pillar.
Hadrian however called to him: 'Why are you scratching yourself, my
friend?' and Scaurus, not at once recognizing Caesar's voice, answered
without turning round: 'Because I have no slave to do it for me.' You
should have heard Caesar laugh! Liberal as he is sometimes--I say
sometimes--he gave Scaurus a handsome sum of money and two sturdy slaves.
The story soon got abroad, and when Caesar, who--as you believe--cannot
jest, a short time after again visited the bath, two old soldiers at once
placed themselves in his way, scrubbed their backs against the wall like
Scaurus, and called out to him 'Great Caesar, we have no slaves.'--'Then
scratch each other,' cried he, and left the soldiers to rub themselves."

"Capital!" laughed Dionysius.
"Now one more true story," interrupted the loquacious Gaul. "Once upon
a time a man with white hair begged of him. The wretch was a low fellow,
a parasite who wandered round from one man's table to another, feeding