"Fie, John Stowe," reproved the Sergeant. "Let not your mind dwell upon earthly matters. Look rather upon yon armed demons, with a mind to marking their true natures. See yon demon with the chased shield, which is surely Pride. And the other beside him, whom, by his lean and envious face I clearly read as Covetousness." And the Sergeant went on giving names to the various gladiators, so that the other Roundheads became interested and drifted over. I was beginning to have hopes of snatching them up immediately when the Sergeant wound up his little discussion. "And besides, John Stowe," he said. "If the Lord wisheth us to have weapons, He surely will provide them." * * * * * At this moment, an attendant of the Arena leaned over the stone parapet that encircled the field and dropped a bundle of swords and armor. "What did I tell you?" said the Sergeant. So they dispersed in the process of putting on the armor, and the chance was lost. "What's holding things up?" boomed the voice of Myers in my ear. "The battle," I snapped. "They're supposed to fight those gladiators." "What!" yelled Myers. "Stop them. Don't let them do it. They've all got to get back alive." "What can I do?" I asked bitterly. "It's up to the Roundheads." And, indeed it was. There is no way of knowing how many lives were depending upon those Roundheads at that moment. At any rate, there was a toot on a horn, or some kind of signal like that, and off they went. "Do you take Pride, Stowe," said the Sergeant. "And so each of the rest of you pick out a cardinal sin. I, myself will take Covetousness." He lifted his Roman short sword over his head and shouted like a wild man. "Now, LET GOD ARISE!" he shouted, and the Roundheads charged toward the enemy. "I'm moving you back to Nero," said Myers' voice in my ear. "Maybe we can put pressure on him somehow." I was swooped back to the royal box. But by the time I got there the situation was such that neither of us could think of anything to do. Nero was bouncing around like a fat toad, squeaking at the top of his lungs. "Why--what--what--" he was squealing. "What are they doing? You Christians, stop it! Stop chasing my gladiators, do you hear me? Stop it! Stop it!" Somebody blew that silly horn again, and the gladiators stopped, but the Roundheads went right on. "Guard thyself, Pride!" the stentorian voice of John Stowe floated up to us in the Royal box. Beside Stowe there was a clang and a thud as the Sergeant decapitated Covetousness. Gladiators were getting cut to pieces right and left. But not for long. Nero was ordering his own guard out of the stands, down into the Arena. "I've got an idea," I called to Myers. "Drop me on the field." "It better be good," he grunted. "Or you'll go the same way they're going!" He dropped me. I came into sight of those Romans suddenly, and the shock of my appearance temporarily halted the Praetorian Guard. They looked from me to Nero and back again.