d kill a man worth perhaps fifty talents to please
the riffraff? I should like to catch any of my men at it.

SPINTHO. I thought--

THE EDITOR (contemptuously) You thought! Who cares what you
think? YOU'LL be killed all right enough.

SPINTHO (groans and again hides his face)!!! Then is nobody ever
killed except us poor--

LAVINIA. Christians?

THE EDITOR. If the vestal virgins turn down their thumbs, that's
another matter. They're ladies of rank.

LAVINIA. Does the Emperor ever interfere?

THE EDITOR. Oh, yes: he turns his thumbs up fast enough if the
vestal virgins want to have one of his pet fighting men killed.

ANDROCLES. But don't they ever just only pretend to kill one
another? Why shouldn't you pretend to die, and get dragged out as
if you were dead; and then get up and go home, like an actor?

THE EDITOR. See here: you want to know too much. There will be no
pretending about the new lion: let that be enough for you. He's
hungry.

SPINTHO (groaning with horror) Oh, Lord! Can't you stop talking
about it? Isn't it bad enough for us without that?

ANDROCLES. I'm glad he's hungry. Not that I want him to suffer,
poor chap! but then he'll enjoy eating me so much more. There's a
cheerful side to everything.

THE EDITOR (rising and striding over to Androcles) Here: don't
you be obstinate. Come with me and drop the pinch of incense on
the altar. That's all you need do to be let off.

ANDROCLES. No: thank you very much indeed; but I really mustn't.

THE EDITOR. What! Not to save your life?

ANDROCLES. I'd rather not. I couldn't sacrifice to Diana: she's a
huntress, you know, and kills things.

THE EDITOR. That don't matter. You can choose your own altar.
Sacrifice to Jupiter: he likes animals: he turns himself into an
animal when he goes off duty.

ANDROCLES. No: it's very kind of you; but I feel I can't save
myself that way.

THE EDITOR. But I don't ask you to do it to save yourself: I ask
you to do it to oblige me personally.

ANDROCLES (scrambling up in the greatest agitation) Oh, please
don't say that. That is dreadful. You mean so kindly by me that
it seems quite horrible to disoblige you. If you could arrange
for me to sacrifice when there's nobody looking, I shouldn't
mind. But I must go into the arena with the rest. My honor, you
know.

THE EDITOR. Honor! The honor of a tailor?

ANDROCLES (apologetically) Well, perhaps honor is too strong an
expression. Still, you know, I couldn't all