“It's what a swell mouth-piece like Bourke Cock-ran calls a 'figger of speech',” interjected Slimmy, ever happy to be heard concerning the ancients. “Cesar an' Brutus were a couple of long-ago Dagoes. Accordin' to th' dope they lived an' croaked two thousand years ago.” “Only a pair av old wops, was they! An' dead an' gone at that! Sure I thought be th' way this writin' gezebo carried on about 'em they was right here on th' job, cuttin' ice. An' they're nothin' more'n a brace av old dead Guineas after all!” The Wop mused a moment over the unprofitable meanness of the discovery. Then his curiosity began to brighten up a trifle. “How did yez come to be so hep to 'em, Slimmy?” “Be studyin'--how-else? An' then there's Counsellor Noonan. You ought to hear him when he gets to goin' about Brutus and Cæsar an' th' rest of th' Roman fleet. To hear Noonan you'd think he had been one of their pals.” “Th' Counsellor's from Latrim,” said the Wop; “I'm a Mayo man meself. An' say, thim Latrim la-a-ads are th' born liars. Still, as long as the Counsellor's talkin' about phwat happened two thousand years ago, yez can chance a bet on him. It's only when he's repo-o-rtin' th' evints av yisterday he'll try to hand yez a lemon.” “I wisht I was as wise as youse, Slimmy,” said Goldie Cora, wistfully rubbing her delicate nose. “It must be dead swell to know about Cæsar an' th' rest of them dubs.” “If they was to show up now,” hazarded the Wop, “thim ould fellies 'ud feel like farmers.” “Oh, I don't know,” observed Slimmy: “they was lyin', cheatin', swindlin', snitchin', double-crossin' an' givin' each other th' rinkey-dink in th' old days same as now. This Cæsar, though, must have been a stiff proposition. He certainly woke up young! When he's only nineteen, he toins out one mornin', yawns, puts on his everyday toga, rambles down town, an' makes a hurrah touch for five million of dollars. Think of it!--five million!--an' him not twenty! He certainly was a producer--Cæsar was!” “Well, I should yell,” assented Harrington. “An' then phwat?” asked the Wop. “This what,” said Slimmy. “Havin' got his wad together, Cæsar starts in to light up Rome, an' invites the push to cut in. When he's got 'em properly keyed up, he goes into the forum an' says, 'Am I it?' An' the gang yells, 'You're it'!” “Cæsar could go some,” commented Goldie Cora, admiringly. “Rome's a republic then,” Slimmy went on, “an' Cæsar has himself elected the main squeeze. He declares for a wide-open town; his war cry is 'No water! No gas! No police!'” “Say, he was a live one!” broke in Harrington; “he was Rome's Big Tim!” “Listen!” commanded Goldie Cora, shaking her yellow head at Harrington. “Go on, Slimmy.”