Pluto You know that old, old fellow, Eucrates the millionaire— no children, but a few thousand would-be heirs? Hermes Yes—lives at Sicyon. Well? Pluto Well, Hermes, he is ninety now; let him live as much longer, please; I should like it to be more still, if possible; and bring me down his toadies one by one, that young Charinus, Damon, and the rest of them. Hermes It would seem so strange, wouldn’t it? Pluto On the contrary, it would be ideal justice. What business have they to pray for his death, or pretend to his money? they are no relations. The most abominable thing about it is that they vary these prayers with every public attention; when he is ill, every one knows what they are after, and yet they vow offerings if he recovers; talk of versatility! So let him be immortal, and bring them away before him with their mouths still open for the fruit that never drops.