hreshold, 'the wine thou sellest us, old Silenus'--and as he
spoke he slapped a portly personage on the back--'is enough to thin the
best blood in one's veins.'

The man thus caressingly saluted, and whose bared arms, white apron, and
keys and napkin tucked carelessly within his girdle, indicated him to be
the host of the tavern, was already passed into the autumn of his years;
but his form was still so robust and athletic, that he might have shamed
even the sinewy shapes beside him, save that the muscles had seeded, as
it were, into flesh, that the cheeks were swelled and bloated, and the
increasing stomach threw into shade the vast and massive chest which
rose above it.

'None of thy scurrilous blusterings with me,' growled the gigantic
landlord, in the gentle semi-roar of an insulted tiger; 'my wine is good
enough for a carcass which shall so soon soak the dust of the
spoliarium.'

'Croakest thou thus, old raven!' returned the gladiator, laughing
scornfully; 'thou shalt live to hang thyself with despite when thou
seest me win the palm crown; and when I get the purse at the
amphitheatre, as I certainly shall, my first vow to Hercules shall be to
forswear thee and thy vile potations evermore.'

'Hear to him--hear to this modest Pyrgopolinices! He has certainly
served under Bombochides Cluninstaridysarchides,' cried the host.
'Sporus, Niger, Tetraides, he declares he shall win the purse from you.
Why, by the gods! each of your muscles is strong enough to stifle all
his body, or I know nothing of the arena!'

'Ha!' said the gladiator, coloring with rising fury, 'our lanista would
tell a different story.'

'What story could he tell against me, vain Lydon?' said Tetraides,
frowning.

'Or me, who have conquered in fifteen fights?' said the gigantic Niger,
stalking up to the gladiator.

'Or me?' grunted Sporus, with eyes of fire.

'Tush!' said Lydon, folding his arms, and regarding his rivals with a
reckless air of defiance. 'The time of trial will soon come; keep your
valor till then.'

'Ay, do,' said the surly host; 'and if I press down my thumb to save
you, may the Fates cut my thread!'

'Your rope, you mean,' said Lydon, sneeringly: 'here is a sesterce to
buy one.'

The Titan wine-vender seized the hand extended to him, and griped it in
so stern a vice that the blood spirted from the fingers' ends over the
garments of the bystanders.

They set up a savage laugh.

'I will teach thee, young braggart,