“Come, my friend,” said the Greek, “this is not the sort of talk which one expects to hear from a loyal subject of the pious Antiochus. We Greeks are not such bigots as you are, cursing every man, woman, or child that does not go exactly in our own way; but you must treat us and our belongings with respect. We are not going to have barbarians scoffing at what we think fit to worship. I have heard of men being crucified for less than you have said to-day. But hearken, Shallum, we did not come here to-day to quarrel with you. You are a good fellow, after all, and keep as capital a tap of wine as any that I know, King Tmolus(7) only excepted. We want you to come with us and have a jolly day. What is the good of quarrelling about words? You and we are quite agreed that there is something in wine that makes it one of the finest things under the sun. Suppose that we choose to call that something Dionysus the Wine-god, and you choose to say that your god has to do with it, what is the difference? We are really agreed. It is the goodness in wine that we both like, and I’m sure that a really honest fellow like you, that we can always rely on to give us the right stuff, should be the first to acknowledge it. Well, can’t we show an agreement? That is why we want you to come with us. A whole crowd of your countrymen are coming, I understand. It will be a pretty sight, and there will be some of the finest music that you ever heard, and dancing, and fun of all kinds, and, of course, as much wine as ever you want. Of course you will come, my dear Shallum?” “_I_ come?” growled the wine-seller. “Not I! What do I care about your dancing and singing? And as for wine, I can have as much as I want at home, and better stuff, too, than any that I am likely to get elsewhere.” Lycon, who was evidently bent on getting his way, did not suffer his good humour to be disturbed by the Jew’s churlishness. “Ah!” said he, “that reminds me. Stupid fellow that I am, I quite forgot the matter of business that really brought me here. To tell the truth, business and this old Lebanon don’t very well agree. But listen; Neocles, who is manager-in-chief of the whole festival, has quite made up his mind to have your wine, and none but yours, for all the better sort of people. He was to get some skins for the common folks from Zadok—do you know him?” “Know him?” said Shallum; “I should think I did—hasn’t got a drop of sound wine in his shop.” “So the Chief said. But we were to come to you for the good wine. What can you let us have? Mind that it must be the very best. We were not to haggle about the price, Neocles said, so long as we got it really good.” And Lycon pulled out of his pocket a money-bag that was evidently much better furnished than Shallum’s lean and hunger-bitten purse. Untying the neck, he poured into his hand, with an air of careless profusion, some ten or twelve gold pieces.