pping, studying these words.

L. Livius M. F. Praenestinus, quodlibet in negotium non inhonestum qui
victum meream locare ve lim. Litteratus sum; scriptum facere bene scio.
Stipendia multa emeritus, scientiarum belli, prasertim muniendi, sum
peritus. Hac de re pro me spondebit M. Agrippa. Latine tantum solo.
Siquis me velit convenire, quovis die mane adesto in publicis hortis
urbis Baltimorianae ad signum apri.

"Can you make it out?" asked Bertram.

"Hm-m-m. Well--the general sense. Livius seems to yearn in modern print
for any honest employment, but especially scrapping of the ancient
variety or secretarying. Apply to Agrippa for references. Since he
describes his conversation as being confined to Latin, I take it he
won't find many jobs reaching out eagerly for him. Anybody who wants
him can find him in the Park of the Wild Boar in Baltimore. That's about
what I make of it. Now, what's his little lay, I wonder."

"Some lay of Ancient Rome, anyhow," suggested Bertram. "Association with
Agrippa would put him back in the first century, B. C., wouldn't it?
Besides, my informant tells me that Mr. Livius, who seems to have been
an all-around sort of person, helped organize fire brigades for Crassus,
and was one of the circle of minor poets who wrote rhapsodies to the
fair but frail Clodia's eyebrows, ear-lobes and insteps."

"Your informant? The man's actually been seen, then?"

"Oh, Yes. He's on view as per advertisement, I understand."

Average Jones rose and stretched his well-knit frame. "Baltimore will
be hotter than the Place-as-Isn't," he said plaintively. "Martyrdom by
fire! However, I'm off by the five-o'clock train. I'll let you know if
anything special comes of it, Bert."

Barye's splendid bronze boar couches, semi-shaded, in the center of
Monument Park, Baltimore's social hill-top. There Average lounged and
strolled through the longest hour of a glaring July morning. People came
and went; people of all degrees and descriptions, none of whom
suggested in any particular the first century, B. C. One individual
only maintained any permanency of situation. He was a gaunt, powerful,
freckled man of thirty who sprawled on a settee and regarded Average
Jones with obvious and amused interest. In time this annoyed the
Ad-Visor, who stopped short, facing the settee.

"He's gone," said the freckled man.

"Meaning Livius, the Roman?" asked Average Jones.

"Exactly. Lucius Livius, son of Marcus Praenestinus."