A great proportion of these, therefore, who frequent the Agora are not here on practical business, unless they have official duties at the government offices.[*] But in no city of any age has the gracious art of doing nothing been brought to such perfection. The Athenians are an intensely gregarious people. Everybody knows everybody else. Says an orator, “It is impossible for a man to be either a rascal or an honest man in this city without your all knowing it.” Few men walk long alone; if they do keep their own company, they are frowned on as “misanthropes.” The morning visit to the Agora “to tell or to hear some new thing”[+] will be followed by equally delightful idling and conversation later in the day at the Gymnasia, and later still, probably, at the dinner-party. Easy and unconventional are the personal greetings. A little shaking out of the mantle, an indescribable flourish with the hands. A free Greek will despise himself for “bowing,” even to the Great King. To clasp hands implies exchanging a pledge, something for more than mere salutation. “_Chaire_, Aristomenes!” “_Chaire_, Cleandros!” Such is the usual greeting, using an expressive word which can mean equally well “hail!” and “farewell!” [*] To serve the state in any official capacity (usually without any salary attached to the office) would give the highest satisfaction to any Greek. The desire for participation in public affairs might be described as a mania. [+] Acts of the Apostles, 17:21. 19. Familiar Types around the Agora.—These animated, eager-faced men whose mantles fall in statuesque folds prefer obviously to walk under the Painted Porch, or the blue roof of heaven, while they evolve their philosophies, mature their political schemes, or organize the material for their orations and dramas, rather than to bend over desks within close offices. Around the Athenian Agora, a true type of this preference, and busy with this delightful idleness, half a century earlier could have been seen a droll figure with “indescribable nose, bald head, round body, eyes rolling and twinkling with good humor,” scantily clad,—an incorrigible do-nothing, windbag, and hanger-on, a later century might assert,—yet history has given to him the name of Socrates.