[Illustration:  The Return of Odysseus]

“He is no guest of my inviting,” answered Eumaeus.  “I would not invite to this house any wandering stranger, unless he were a prophet, or leech, or shipwright, or minstrel; and he is none of these.  But thou art ever hard on the servants of Odysseus, and especially on me; yet I care not, so long as I satisfy Penelope and my young lord, Telemachus.”

“Eumaeus, thou art overbold of speech,” said Telemachus; then turning to Antinous he added:  “I thank thee for thy fatherly care, but we are not so poor that we need to drive the stranger from our doors—­heaven forbid!  Give him something; ’tis I that bid thee:  but thou art ever better at taking than at giving.”

“I will give him something, thou malapert boy,” answered Antinous, grinding his teeth with rage, “something which will keep him from the house for three months to come.”  As he spoke he thrust forward a heavy footstool from under the table, and placed it ready at hand.

Meanwhile, Odysseus, having filled his wallet, was preparing to return to his place on the threshold.  But first he came to Antinous, and addressed to him a long harangue in the common style of the professional beggar, who had seen better days and been brought to want by the malice of fortune.  He concluded with a fragment of the story which he had already told to Eumaeus.

Antinous heard him to the end with ill-disguised impatience, and then broke out in angry tones:  “Who brought this wretched fellow here to vex us?  Stand off from my table, thou shameless varlet!  Egypt, sayest thou?  I will send thee to Egypt, and with a vengeance, too!  It is a shame to see how they have squandered good meat on a dog like thee”; and he pointed to the wallet, now filled with the cheap bounty of the wooers.

Odysseus drew back and made for the door, saying as he went:  “Of a truth, I wonder to find so princely a presence wedded to so mean a temper.”

When he heard that Antinous began to curse and to swear, and lifting the footstool he hurled it with all his force at the retreating figure of Odysseus.  It struck him on the shoulder, with a crash that vibrated through the hall; but Odysseus heeded it not, but passed on without a pause or a stumble to his place on the threshold.  When he was seated he complained loudly of the brutal conduct of Antinous.  “Accursed be he,” he said, “who lifts up his hand against a helpless beggar; may Heaven requite him for this foul deed!”

“Thou hadst best be quiet,” said Antinous, “or we will drag thee by the heels through the hall, until we have stripped the flesh off thy bones.”

But this was too much even for the wooers.  “Antinous,” said one of them, “it was ill done of thee to strike the hapless wanderer.  Take heed that thou bring not a curse upon thyself, if there be gods in heaven to see such deeds.  And what if a god should visit this house in some strange disguise, to make trial of our hearts?  It were no new thing.”