"Chilo Chilonides, where is thy birthplace?"

"On the Euxine Pontus. I come from Mesembria."

"Oh, Chilo, thou art great!"

"And unrecognized," said the sage, pensively.

But Vinicius was impatient again. In view of the hope which had gleamed
before him, he wished Chilo to set out at once on his work; hence the
whole conversation seemed to him simply a vain loss of time, and he was
angry at Petronius.

"When wilt thou begin the search?" asked he, turning to the Greek.

"I have begun it already," answered Chilo. "And since I am here,
and answering thy affable question, I am searching yet. Only have
confidence, honored tribune, and know that if thou wert to lose the
string of thy sandal I should find it, or him who picked it up on the
street."

"Hast thou been employed in similar services?" asked Petronius.

The Greek raised his eyes. "To-day men esteem virtue and wisdom too low,
for a philosopher not to be forced to seek other means of living."

"What are thy means?"

"To know everything, and to serve those with news who are in need of
it."

"And who pay for it?"

"Ah, lord, I need to buy a copyist. Otherwise my wisdom will perish with
me."

"If thou hast not collected enough yet to buy a sound mantle, thy
services cannot be very famous."

"Modesty hinders me. But remember, lord, that to-day there are not such
benefactors as were numerous formerly; and for whom it was as pleasant
to cover service with gold as to swallow an oyster from Puteoli. No; my
services are not small, but the gratitude of mankind is small. At times,
when a valued slave escapes, who will find him, if not the only son of
my father? When on the walls there are inscriptions against the divine
Poppaea, who will indicate those who composed them? Who will discover at
the book-stalls verses against Caesar? Who will declare what is said in
the houses of knights and senators? Who will carry letters which the
writers will not intrust to slaves? Who will listen to news at the doors
of barbers? For whom have wine-shops and bake-shops no secret? In whom
do slaves trust? Who can see through every house, from the atrium to the
garden? Who knows every street, every alley and hiding-place? Who
knows what they say in the baths, in the Circus, in the markets, in the
fencing-schools, in slave-dealers' sheds, and even in the arenas?"

"By the gods! enough, noble sage!" cried Petronius; "we are drowning
in thy services, thy virtue, thy wisdom, and th