However, the master declared that he could not accept the honor, for that it was due to the worthiest of their company; to the man namely, who, only a few days since, had entered this empty palace and like a second Deucalion had raised up illustrious artists, such as he then saw around him in great numbers, and skilled workmen by hundreds, not out of plastic stone but out of nothing.

And then--while declaring that he understood the use of the hammer and chisel better than that of the tongue, and that he had never studied the art of making speeches--he expressed his wish that Pontius would lead the revel, in the most approved form.
But he was not allowed to get to the end of this evidence of his skill, for Euphorion the door-keeper of the palace, Euphorion the father of Pollux, ran hastily into the hall of the Muses with a letter in his hand which he gave to the architect.
"To be read without an instant's delay," he added, bowing with theatrical dignity to the assembled artists.

"One of the prefect's lictors brought this letter, which, if my wishes be granted, brings nothing that is unwelcome.

Hold your noise you little blackguards or I will be the death of you." These words, which so far as the tone was concerned, formed a somewhat inharmonious termination to a speech intended for the ears of great artists, were addressed to his wife's four-footed Graces who had followed him against his wish, and were leaping round the table barking for the slender remains of the consumed food.
Pontius was fond of animals and had made friends with the old woman's pets, so, as he opened the prefect's letter, he said: "I invite the three little guests to the remains of our feast.

Give them anything that is fit for them, Euphorion, and whatever seems to you most suitable to your own stomach you may put into it." While the architect first rapidly glanced through the letter and then read it carefully, the singer had collected a variety of good morsels for his wife's favorites on a plate, and finally carried the last remaining pasty, with the dish on which it reposed, to the vicinity of his own hooked nose.
"For men or for dogs ?" he asked his son, as he pointed to it with a rigid finger.
"For the gods!" replied Pollux.