think, of mystery in connection with the coming of the son of Arrius. Tell me of that."
"Tis nothing, Messala, nothing," Drusus replied; "a child’s story. When Arrius, the father, sailed in pursuit of the pirates, he was without wife or family; he returned with a boy—him of whom we speak—and next day adopted him."
"Adopted him?" Messala repeated. "By the gods, Drusus, thou dost, indeed, interest me! Where did the duumvir find the boy? And who was he?"
"Who shall answer thee that, Messala? who but the young Arrius himself? Perpol! in the fight the duumvir—then but a tribune—lost his galley. A returning vessel found him and one other all of the crew who survived—afloat upon the same plank. I give you now the story of the rescuers, which hath this excellence at least—it hath never been contradicted. They say, the duumvir’s companion on the plank was a Jew—"
"A Jew!" echoed Messala.
"And a slave."
"How Drusus? A slave?"
"When the two were lifted to the deck, the duumvir was in his tribune’s armor, and the other in the vesture of a rower."
Messala arose from leaning against the table.
"A galley"—he checked the debasing word, and looked around, for once in his life at loss. Just then a procession of slaves filed into the room, some with great jars of wine, others with baskets of fruits and confections, others again with cups and flagons, mostly silver. There was inspiration in the sight. Instantly Messala climbed upon a stool.
"Men of the Tiber," he said, in a clear voice, "let us turn this waiting for our chief into a feast of Bacchus. Whom choose ye for master?"
Drusus arose.
"Who shall be master but the giver of the feast?" he said. "Answer, Romans."
They gave their reply in a shout.
Messala took the chaplet from his head, gave it to Dru-
