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“Joey,” said Magnus, “don’t you know them?”

“Rather,” said Joe. “I could tell them at once from the likenesses in– what do you call him’s–Smith’s classical thingamybob. It’s Olympus, after all!”

“So it is,” groaned Magnus. “Oh, Jupiter!”

At the mention of his name, the gentleman at the head of the table looked up.

“I beg your pardon,” said he, in fairly good English.

His manner rather overawed the two boys, who thought it wise to be civil to begin with, at any rate.

So they touched their caps, and Magnus said–

“Do you happen to know the shortest cut down to Llanberis, sir?”

“We’ve lost our way, don’t you know,” said Joe; “and we’ve got to catch the last train back to–you know–what’s-his-name–Llandudno.”

Jove looked a little scared, and, by way of intimating that he did not understand a word, shook his head.

“I wish you wouldn’t shake your head,” said Juno, the lady next to him; “it upsets everything, and makes the glasses spill. Why can’t you say, like a man, you don’t understand German? Who are your friends, pray? We’ve quite enough boys about the place without any more. What is it, you boys? We’ve nothing for you!”

“Poor boys,” said the good-looking lady before mentioned; “they look quite hungry.”

“So we are,” said Magnus. “Ainsi nous sommes.”

“Tout droit” said Venus (that was her name), with a smile across the table at the gentleman with the Jew’s harp; “vous aurez quelque chose a manger dans une seconde. Make room for the boys, Vulcan. We’ll excuse you.”

Here the lame gentleman with the murky face slowly hobbled up, apparently greatly relieved to be allowed to go. And Magnus minor and Joe, without further invitation, crowded in at the table between Venus and the lady with the shield.

“Beasts, all of them,” whispered Magnus to his friend, “and it don’t look much of a spread; but it’s better than nothing. Here, Tommy,” said he, addressing the page-boy, “quelque de cela–do you hear?”

Tommy (whose real name was Ganymede), obeyed with alacrity, and put before each a plate of what looked like very flowery mashed potato, and a small glass of a frothy beverage.

“I suppose this is what they call nectar and ambrosia,” said Magnus. “I’d like to catch them giving us such stuff at school.”

“Plenty of it, that’s one thing,” said Joe. “I fancy we can keep young what’s-his-name going for half an hour or so comfortably.”

“Well, my dear, and how do you like Olympus?” said the lady with the shield.

“Oh, I dare say you’re all right,” said Joe, diplomatically; “but I don’t think much of the rest.”

“What did he say?” inquired Juno from the end of the table.

“Never mind,” said Minerva, “we’re having a little friendly chat; you need not interfere.”

“You’re talking about me, I know you are,” said Juno.

“Non, nous ne sommes pas,” said Joe.

“Never mind her,” said Minerva; “she doesn’t count for much here. Of course, you know the gentleman opposite with the lyre–my brother, Apollo, the poet.”

“Is he? I say,” cried Joe, across the table, “Mr Apollo, do you know anything that rhymes with `catsup’?”

Apollo smiled rather foolishly, and said he fancied it was not in the rhyming dictionary; at least, he never had to use the word in his day.

Joe’s opinion of a poet who could not rhyme any word in the language fell considerably.

“He means well, does Polly,” said Minerva, apologetically; “but he never had a public-school education, you know.”

Magnus meanwhile was making himself agreeable to his fair neighbour.

“I say,” said he, in the midst of his fourth helping of ambrosia, “which is the fellow who once kicked the other fellow downstairs?”

Venus laughed immoderately.

“The other fellow is my husband, the poor dear who made room for you just now. The fellow that kicked him down is Jupiter–there!”

“Good old Jupiter!” said Magnus. “I’d like to see you do it again. Did you do it with a place-kick, or a drop, or a punt?”