ANDROCLES. (_scrambling up in the greatest agitation_) Oh, please don’t say that. That is dreadful. You mean so kindly by me that it seems quite horrible to disoblige you. If you could arrange for me to sacrifice when there’s nobody looking, I shouldn’t mind. But I must go into the arena with the rest. My honor, you know. THE EDITOR. Honor! The honor of a tailor? ANDROCLES. (_apologetically_) Well, perhaps honor is too strong an expression. Still, you know, I couldn’t allow the tailors to get a bad name through me. THE EDITOR. How much will you remember of all that when you smell the beast’s breath and see his jaws opening to tear out your throat? SPINTHO. (_rising with a yell of terror_) I can’t bear it. Where’s the altar? I’ll sacrifice. FERROVIUS. Dog of an apostate. Iscariot! SPINTHO. I’ll repent afterwards. I fully mean to die in the arena I’ll die a martyr and go to heaven; but not this time, not now, not until my nerves are better. Besides, I’m too young: I want to have just one more good time. (_The gladiators laugh at him_). Oh, will no one tell me where the altar is? (_He dashes into the passage and vanishes_). ANDROCLES. (_to the Editor, pointing after Spintho_) Brother: I can’t do that, not even to oblige you. Don’t ask me. THE EDITOR. Well, if you’re determined to die, I can’t help you. But I wouldn’t be put off by a swine like that. FERROVIUS. Peace, peace: tempt him not. Get thee behind him, Satan. THE EDITOR. (_flushing with rage_) For two pins I’d take a turn in the arena myself to-day, and pay you out for daring to talk to me like that. _Ferrovius springs forward._ LAVINIA. (_rising quickly and interposing_) Brother, brother: you forget. FERROVIUS. (_curbing himself by a mighty effort_) Oh, my temper, my wicked temper! (_To the Editor, as Lavinia sits down again, reassured_). Forgive me, brother. My heart was full of wrath: I should have been thinking of your dear precious soul. THE EDITOR. Yah! (_He turns his back on Ferrovius contemptuously, and goes back to his seat_). FERROVIUS. (_continuing_) And I forgot it all: I thought of nothing but offering to fight you with one hand tied behind me. THE EDITOR. (_turning pugnaciously_) What! FERROVIUS. (_on the border line between zeal and ferocity_) Oh, don’t give way to pride and wrath, brother. I could do it so easily. I could— _They are separated by the Menagerie Keeper, who rushes in from the passage, furious._ THE KEEPER. Here’s a nice business! Who let that Christian out of here down to the dens when we were changing the lion into the cage next the arena? THE EDITOR. Nobody let him. He let himself. THE KEEPER. Well, the lion’s ate him. _Consternation. The Christians rise, greatly agitated. The gladiators sit callously, but are highly amused. All speak or cry out or laugh at once. Tumult._