This vow he kept faithfully.  Indeed, so far as his preserver was concerned, it was kept with such exaggeration, that while the judge did not repent saving the professor’s life, he often found himself regretting that some one else had not been at hand to earn all this embarrassing gratitude.  Everywhere Mr. Plateas boasted of the merits of his preserver; the whole island resounded with his praise; each time they met,—­and they met several times a day,—­he rushed toward the judge enthusiastically and lost no chance to proclaim that henceforth his only desire was to prove his words by his deeds.  “My life belongs to you,” he would say; “I have consecrated it to you.”

In vain the judge protested, and urged that the matter was not so serious,—­that any one else would have done the same in his place.  Mr. Plateas would not be convinced, and persisted in declaring his gratitude.  While it often rather bored him, the judge was touched by this devotion, and came to accept the professor as a part of his daily life; in this way the two men gradually became fast friends, although they were unlike in almost everything.

So Mr. Plateas was returning from his constitutional.  It was one of those beautiful February days, true forerunners of spring, when the sun kisses the first leaves of the early almonds, the blue sea sparkles, and the cloudless sky of Greece smiles.  But it was nearly sunset, and the prudent professor hardly dared expose himself to the cool evening air, for at this season winter reasserts itself as soon as the sun goes down.  He had almost reached the dockyard, which then marked the outskirts of Syra, and was still walking along the shore, when he saw his well-beloved Liakos in the distance coming from the town.  A smile of satisfaction lighted his round face; he threw up both hands, in one of which was a stout cane, and raising his voice so as to be heard by his friend from afar, declaimed this line from the “Iliad”: 

[Greek text] Who mayest thou be, of mortal men most brave?

The professor had a habit of quoting Homer on all occasions, and was reputed to know the whole “Iliad” and “Odyssey” by heart.  He modestly disavowed this tribute to his learning, but without giving up the quotations that seemed to justify it.  It is true ill-natured people said his verses were not always quite applicable; but the Hellenists of Syra did not confirm this slander, possibly because they were not competent to judge.  Still, everybody used to smile when he raised his voice in the midst of a trivial conversation to roll forth majestically some sonorous hexameter from Homer.

When the two friends were near enough, Mr. Plateas stopped and effusively shook hands with his preserver.

“My dear friend, why didn’t you tell me you were going to walk to-day?  We could have come out together,—­it’s time to go in now.  Why did you start so late?”

“Yes, I am late; I expected to meet you farther on.”  And Mr. Liakos added with a show of indifference, “Are there many people out to-day?”