ve nothing for you!"

"Poor boys," said the good-looking lady before mentioned; "they look
quite hungry."

"So we are," said Magnus. "_Ainsi nous sommes_."

"_Tout droit_" said Venus (that was her name), with a smile across the
table at the gentleman with the Jew's harp; "_vous aurez quelque chose a
manger dans une seconde_. Make room for the boys, Vulcan. We'll excuse
you."

Here the lame gentleman with the murky face slowly hobbled up,
apparently greatly relieved to be allowed to go. And Magnus minor and
Joe, without further invitation, crowded in at the table between Venus
and the lady with the shield.

"Beasts, all of them," whispered Magnus to his friend, "and it don't
look much of a spread; but it's better than nothing. Here, Tommy," said
he, addressing the page-boy, "_quelque de cela_--do you hear?"

Tommy (whose real name was Ganymede), obeyed with alacrity, and put
before each a plate of what looked like very flowery mashed potato, and
a small glass of a frothy beverage.

"I suppose this is what they call nectar and ambrosia," said Magnus.
"I'd like to catch them giving us such stuff at school."

"Plenty of it, that's one thing," said Joe. "I fancy we can keep young
what's-his-name going for half an hour or so comfortably."

"Well, my dear, and how do you like Olympus?" said the lady with the
shield.

"Oh, I dare say _you're_ all right," said Joe, diplomatically; "but I
don't think much of the rest."

"What did he say?" inquired Juno from the end of the table.

"Never mind," said Minerva, "we're having a little friendly chat; you
need not interfere."

"You're talking about me, I know you are," said Juno.

"_Non, nous ne sommes pas_," said Joe.

"Never mind her," said Minerva; "she doesn't count for much here. Of
course, you know the gentleman opposite with the lyre--my brother,
Apollo, the poet."

"Is he? I say," cried Joe, across the table, "Mr Apollo, do you know
anything that rhymes with `catsup'?"

Apollo smiled rather foolishly, and said he fancied it was not in the
rhyming dictionary; at least, he never had to use the word in his day.

Joe's opinion of a poet who could not rhyme any word in the language
fell considerably.

"He means well, does Polly," said Minerva, apologetically; "but he never
had a public-school education, you know."

Magnus meanwhile was making himself agreeable to his fair neighbour.

"I say," said he, in the midst of his fourth helping of ambrosia,