Gorgias anxiously begged him to relate what had happened, and the old man, drawing nearer, whispered that the pupil and assistant of Didymus—­young Philotas of Amphissa, a student, and, moreover, a courteous young man of excellent family—­had gone to a banquet to which Antyllus, the son of Antony, had invited several of his classmates.  This had already happened several times, and he, Phryx, had warned him, for, when the lowly associate with the lofty, the lowly rarely escape kicks and blows.  The young fellow, who usually had behaved no worse than the other Ephebi, had always returned from such festivities with a flushed face and unsteady steps, but to-night he had not even reached his room in the upper story.  He had darted into the house as though pursued by the watch, and, while trying to rush up the stairs—­it was really only a ladder-he had made a misstep and fell.  He, Phryx, did not believe that he was hurt, for none of his limbs ached, even when they were pulled and stretched, and Dionysus kindly protected drunkards; but some demon must have taken possession of him, for he howled and groaned continually, and would answer no questions.  True, he was aware, from the festivals of Dionysus, that the young man was one of those who, when intoxicated, weep and lament; but this time something unusual must have occurred, for in the first place his handsome face was coloured black and looked hideous, since his tears had washed away the soot in many places, and then he talked nothing but a confused jargon.  It was a pity.

When an attempt was made, with the help of the garden slave, to carry him to his room, he dealt blows and kicks like a lunatic.  Didymus now also believed that he was possessed by demons, as often happens to those who, in falling, strike their heads against the ground, and thus wake the demons in the earth.  Well, yes, they might be demons, but only those of wine.  The student was just “crazy drunk,” as people say.  But the old gentleman was very fond of his pupil, and had ordered him, Pliryx, to go to Olympus, who, ever since he could remember, had been the family physician.

“The Queen’s leech?” asked Gorgias, disapprovingly, and when the slave assented, the architect exclaimed in a positive tone:  “It is not right to force the old man out of doors in such a north wind.  Age is not specially considerate to age.  Now that the statues stand yonder, I can leave my post for half an hour and will go with you.  I don’t think a leech is needed to drive out these demons.”

“True, my lord, true!” cried the slave, “but Olympus is our friend.  He visits few patients, but he will come to our house in any weather.  He has litters, chariots, and splendid mules.  The Queen gives him whatever is best and most comfortable.  He is skilful, and perhaps can render speedy help.  People must use what they have.”

“Only where it is necessary,” replied the architect.  “There are my two mules; follow me on the second.  If I don’t drive out the demons, you will have plenty of time to trot after Olympus.”