“Beware of morbid ambition,” said Papias to his pupil in a warning voice.  “It is not the man who stands on tiptoe, but he who does his duty diligently, that can attain anything great.”

“He honestly does his,” said the architect rising, and he laid his hand on the young sculptor’s shoulder.  “We all do; to-morrow by sunrise each must be at his post again.  For my colleague’s sake it will be well that you should all be there in good time.”

The artists rose, expressing their thanks and regrets.  “You will not escape the continuation of this evening’s entertainment,” cried one of the painters, and Papias, as he parted from Pontius, said: 

“When we next meet I will show you what I understand by a drinking-speech.  It will do perhaps for your Roman guest.  I am curious to hear what he will say about our Urania.  Pollux has done his share of the work very well, and I have already devoted an hour’s work to it, which has improved it.  The more humble our material, the better I shall be pleased if the work satisfies Caesar; he himself has tried his hand at sculpture.”

“If only Hadrian could hear that!” cried one of the painters.  “He likes to think himself a great artist—­one of the foremost of our time.  It is said that he caused the life of the great architect, Apollodorus—­who carried out such noble works for Trajan—­to be extinguished—­and why? because formerly that illustrious man had treated the imperial bungler as a mere dabbler, and would not accept his plan for the temple of Venus at Rome.”

“Mere talk!” answered Pontius to this accusation.  “Apollodorus died in prison, but his incarceration had little enough to do with the Emperor’s productions—­excuse me, gentlemen, I must once more look through the sketches and plans.”

The architect went away, but Pollux continued the conversation that had been begun by saying: 

“Only I cannot understand how a man who practises so many arts at once as Hadrian does, and at the same time looks after the state and its government, who is a passionate huntsman and who dabbles in every kind of miscellaneous learning, contrives, when he wants to practise one particular form of art, to recall all his five senses into the nest from which he has let them fly, here, there, and everywhere.  The inside of his head must be like that salad-bowl—­which we have reduced to emptiness—­in which Papias discovered three sorts of fish, brown and white meat, oysters and five other substances.”

“And who can deny,” added Papias, “that if talent is the father, and meat the mother of all productiveness, practice must be the artist’s teacher!  Since Hadrian took to sculpture and painting it has become the universal fashion here to practise these arts, and among the wealthier youth who come to my workroom, many have very good abilities; but not one of them brings anything to any good issue, because so much of their time is taken up by the gymnasium, the bath, the quail-fights, the suppers, and I know not what besides, so that they do nothing by way of practice.”