So saying he stepped aside to let Eumaeus pass, then checked him with a hasty exclamation; for he had seen something which sent a pang of sorrow to his heart.  Heaped up against the wall by the doorway was a great pile of refuse, left there until the thralls should carry it away and lay it on the fields; and there, grievously neglected, and almost blind with age, lay a great gaunt hound, to all seeming more dead than alive.  What was the emotion of Odysseus when he recognised in that poor creature his old favourite, Argus, whom he had reared with his own hand, and trained to the chase, in the old days before he sailed to Troy!  As he stooped down with a caressing gesture the hound feebly raised his head; a strange light came into his eyes, he drooped his ears, and wagged his tail, but was too weak to stir from the place where he lay.  Odysseus brushed away a tear, and said to Eumaeus:  “’Tis strange that so fine a hound should lie thus uncared for in his old age.  Or do his looks belie his qualities?  Handsome he must have been, as I can see still; but perhaps his beauty was all he had to boast of.”

“He was my master’s favourite hound,” answered Eumaeus, “and there was none swifter or keener of scent in all the land.  Formerly the young men would take him with them to hunt the wild goat or the hare or the deer; but now that he is sore stricken with years not one of the women will bring him a morsel to eat, or a little water to drink.  So it ever is when the master is absent; for a slave has no conscience when his owner’s eye is not upon him.”

When Eumaeus had entered the house, Odysseus lingered awhile, gazing sadly at the faithful Argus.  The old hound raised himself, and struggled painfully to drag himself to his master’s feet; but the effort was too much for him, and he sank back on his sorry bed, and breathed his last.

With a heavy heart Odysseus turned away, and passing into the hall sat down on the threshold and laid his scrip beside him.  Telemachus was the first to notice him, and calling the swineherd, who was sitting near, he gave him a loaf of bread and a good handful of meat, and bade him carry it to the beggar.  “And tell him to go round and beg of all the wooers,” he said:  “want and modesty agree ill together.”  Eumaeus brought the gift and the message, which Odysseus received with a blessing on the giver.  And when he had eaten he rose and went round the hall, begging of the wooers.  All gave him something until he came to Antinous, who stared at him insolently and asked who he was.

“I saw the fellow,” answered Melanthius, “a little while ago.  Eumaeus brought him hither, but who he is I know not.”

“Ah! thou rogue,” said Antinous to the swineherd, “we know thy ways!  Why didst thou bring this caitiff to the town?  Are there not beggars enough here already to mar our pleasure when we sit down to meat?  ’Tis nought to thee, it seems, that these palmer-worms come swarming round the house to devour thy master’s living.”