tly held a cold water pitcher
to her cheek and Fortunata bent over it, sobbing and moaning. But as for
Trimalchio, "What the hell's next?" he gritted out, "this Syrian
dancing-whore don't remember anything! I took her off the auction block
and made her a woman among her equals, didn't I? And here she puffs
herself up like a frog and pukes in her own nest; she's a blockhead, all
right, not a woman. But that's the way it is, if you're born in an attic
you can't sleep in a palace I'll see that this booted Cassandra's tamed,
so help me my Genius, I will! And I could have married ten million, even
if I did only have two cents: you know I'm not lying! 'Let me give you a
tip,' said Agatho, the perfumer to the lady next door, when he pulled me
aside: 'don't let your line die out!' And here I've stuck the ax into my
own leg because I was a damned fool and didn't want to seem fickle. I'll
see to it that you're more careful how you claw me up, sure as you're
born, I will! That you may realize how seriously I take what you've done
to me--Habinnas, I don't want you to put her statue on my tomb for fear
I'll be nagged even after I'm dead! And furthermore, that she may know I
can repay a bad turn, I won't have her kissing me when I'm laid out!"

CHAPTER THE SEVENTY-FIFTH.

When Trimalchio had launched this thunderbolt, Habinnas commenced to
beg him to control his anger. "There's not one of us but goes wrong
sometimes," argued he; "we're not gods, we're men." Scintilla also cried
out through her tears, calling him "Gaius," and entreating him by his
guardian angel to be mollified. Trimalchio could restrain the tears no
longer. "Habinnas," he blubbered, "as you hope to enjoy your money, spit
in my face if I've done anything wrong. I kissed him because he's very
thrifty, not because he's a pretty boy. He can recite his division table
and read a book at sight: he bought himself a Thracian uniform from his
savings from his rations, and a stool and two dippers, with his own
money, too. He's worth my attention, ain't he? But Fortunata won't see
it! Ain't that the truth, you high-stepping hussy'? Let me beg you to
make the best of what you've got, you shekite, and don't make me show my
teeth, my little darling, or you'll find out what my temper's like!
Believe me, when once I've made up my mind, I'm as fixed as a spike in a
beam! But let's think of the living. I hope you'll all make yourselves
at home, gentlemen: I