_Her_. Well?

_Ly_. You know the Heracleot, quite an old pupil of his in philosophy by
this time--red-haired--likes an argument?

_Her_. Yes; Dion, he is called.

_Ly_. Well, I suppose he had not paid up punctually; anyhow the other day
the old man haled him before the magistrate, with a halter made of his own
coat; he was shouting and fuming, and if some friends had not come up and
got the young man out of his hands, he would have bitten off his nose, he
was in such a temper.

_Her_. Ah, _he_ is a bad character, always an unconscionable time paying
his debts. There are plenty of others who owe the professor money, and he
has never treated any of them so; they pay him his interest punctually.

_Ly_. Not so fast; what in the world does it matter to him, if they do not
pay up? he is purified by philosophy, and has no further need of the cast
clothes of Oeta.

_Her_. Do you suppose his interest in such things is selfish? no, but he
has little ones; his care is to save them from indigence.

_Ly_. Whereas he ought to have brought them up to Virtue too, and let them
share his inexpensive Happiness.

_Her_. Well, I have no time to argue it, Lycinus; I must not be late for
lecture, lest in the end I find myself left behind.