“And you didn’t have luck?”

“Oh, yes, I had luck, good Socrates, but——­“.

“I understand, you had no calf.”

“Bah!  Socrates, a rich tanner and not have calves?”

“Now I understand.  You had luck, had calves, but you kept them for yourself, and Hermes received nothing.”

“You’re a clever man.  I’ve often said so.  I kept only three of my ten oaths, and I didn’t deal differently with the other gods.  If the same is the case with you, isn’t that the reason, possibly, why we are now abandoned by the gods?  To be sure, I ordered Larissa to sacrifice a whole hecatomb after my death.”

“But that is Larissa’s affair, whereas it was you, friend Elpidias, who made the promises.”

“That’s true, that’s true.  But you, good Socrates, could you, godless as you are, deal better with the gods than I who was a god-fearing tanner?”

“My friend, I know not whether I dealt better or worse.  At first I brought offerings without having made vows.  Later I offered neither calves nor vows.”

“What, not a single calf, you unfortunate man?”

“Yes, friend, if Hermes had had to live by my gifts, I am afraid he would have grown very thin.”

“I understand.  You did not traffic in cattle, so you offered articles of some other trade—­probably a mina or so of what the pupils paid you.”

“You know, my friend, I didn’t ask pay of my pupils, and my trade scarcely sufficed to support me.  If the gods reckoned on the sorry remnants of my meals they miscalculated.”

“Oh, blasphemer, in comparison with you I can be proud of my piety.  Ye gods, look upon this man!  I did deceive you at times, but now and then I shared with you the surplus of some fortunate deal.  He who gives at all gives much in comparison with a blasphemer who gives nothing.  Socrates, I think you had better go on alone!  I fear that your company, godless one, damages me in the eyes of the gods.”

“As you will, good Elpidias.  I swear by the dog no one shall force his company on another.  Unhand the fold of my mantle, and farewell.  I will go on alone.”

And Socrates walked forward with a sure tread, feeling the ground, however, at every step.

But Elpidias behind him instantly cried out: 

“Wait, wait, my good fellow-citizen, do not leave an Athenian alone in this horrible place!  I was only making fun.  Take what I said as a joke, and don’t go so quickly.  I marvel how you can see a thing in this hellish darkness.”

“Friend, I have accustomed my eyes to it.”

“That’s good.  Still I, can’t approve of your not having brought sacrifices to the gods.  No, I can’t, poor Socrates, I can’t.  The honourable Sophroniscus certainly taught you better in your youth, and you yourself used to take part in the prayers.  I saw you.

“Yes.  But I am accustomed to examine all our motives and to accept only those that after investigation prove to be reasonable.  And so a day came on which I said to myself:  ’Socrates, here you are praying to the Olympians.  Why are you praying to them?’”