While all that was being read, my dear fellow, the sweat poured off me for shame, and to quote the saying, I prayed that the earth would swallow me when I saw the guests all laughing at every sentence, especially as many as knew Hetoemocles, a man with gray hair who looked to be highminded. It was a marvel to me that such a man had hoodwinked them, deceiving them with his beard and the concentration expressed in his features. It was my notion that Aristaenetus had not carelessly overlooked him, but that, not thinking he would accept if invited, he would not expose himself to any such treatment, and so thought best not to try him at all.

When at last the slave stopped reading, the whole party looked at Zeno and Diphilus, who were frightened and pale, and by the distress in their faces acknowledged the truth of the charges brought by Hetoemocles. Aristaenetus was perturbed and fall of confusion, but he told us to go on drinking just the same and tried to smooth the business over, smiling as he did so; the servant he sent away with the words: “I will see to it.” After a little while Zeno withdrew unobservedly, for his attendant directed him to go, as if at the bidding of his father.

Cleodemus had long been looking for an opportunity, as he wanted to pitch into the Stoics and was ready to burst because he could not find a satisfactory opening. But at last the letter gave him his cue, and he said: “That is what your noble Chrysippus does, and your wonderful Zeno and Cleanthes! They are nothing but miserable phrase-makers and question-mongers, philosophers in dress, but in-all else just like Hetoemocles, most of them. And the letter—see how venerable it is! To cap all, Aristaenetus is Oeneus and Hetoemocles is Artemis! Good Lord! In excellent taste, all of it, and just the thing for a festive occasion!”