_Mi_. It may be as you say. But, cock (I don’t mind making a clean breast of it to you), I have had a fancy all my life for being rich, and I am as bad as ever; nay, worse, for there is the dream, still flaunting its gold before my eyes; and that confounded Simon, too,—it chokes me to think of him rolling in luxury. _Cock_. I’ll put that right. It is still dark, get up and come with me. You shall pay a visit to Simon and other rich men, and see how things stand with them. _Mi_. But the doors are locked. Would you have me break in? _Cock_. Oh no; but I have a certain privilege from Hermes, my patron: you see my longest tail-feather, the curling one that hangs down,— _Mi_. There are two curling ones that hang down. _Cock_. The one on the right. By allowing any one to pluck out that feather and carry it, I give him the power, for as long as I like, of opening all doors and seeing everything, himself unseen. _Mi_. Cock, you are a positive conjurer. Only give me the feather, and it shall not be long before Simon’s wealth shifts its quarters; I’ll slip in and make a clean sweep. His teeth shall tug leather again. _Cock_. That must not be. I have my instructions from Hermes, and if my feather is put to any such purpose, I am to call out and expose the offender. _Mi_. Hermes, of all people, grudge a man a little thievery? I’ll not believe it of him. However, let us start; I promise not to touch the gold ... if I can help it. _Cock_. You must pluck out the feather first.... What’s this? You have taken both! _Mi_. Better to be on the safe side. And it would look so bad to have one half of your tail gone and not the other. _Cock_. Well. Where shall we go first? To Simon’s? _Mi_. Yes, yes, Simon first. Simonides it is, nowadays; two syllables is not enough for him since he has come into money.... Here we are; what do I do next? _Cock_. Apply the feather to the bolt. _Mi_. So. Heracles! it might be a key; the door flies open. _Cock_. Walk in; you go first. Do you see him? He is sitting up over his accounts. _Mi_. See him! I should think I did. What a light! That lamp wants a drink. And what makes Simon so pale? He is shrivelled up to nothing. That comes of his worries; there is nothing else the matter with him, that I have heard of. _Cock_. Listen, and you will understand.