The _triclinium_ rang with paeans of praise of our Sabine yeomanry, and when the excitement had abated enough to permit of intelligible discourse, Tanno was regaled with a series of tales illustrating the sterling worth of the Sabine yeomen, their knowledge of farming, their diligence, their patience, their unflagging energy, their parsimony, their amazing productivity in respect to crop- yield, stock, implements and all things raised or made on their farms, their devotion to their landlords, the charm of the ties between the gentry and the yeomanry and the universal Sabine cult of the tenant system.
With all this talk we lingered longer than usual over Ofatulena's bewitching salads, which Tanno lauded even above her ragouts.
When it was time for the last course, after the service-boys had slid the third-course tray off the table, I was amazed to see my four strongest table slaves enter fairly staggering under the load put upon them by Grandfather's biggest dinner-tray heaped with fruit, among which I descried African pomegranates and other exotics.

Still more was I amazed when other slaves crowded in behind them, carrying baskets of hot-house melons of astonishing size and insistent perfume.

Last of the procession was Agathemer, who stood in the doorway, grinning and beaming.
Tanno, not less than the guests in chorus, acclaimed this unexpected profusion.
Again I looked interrogatively at Agathemer.

He responded as at the commencement of our meal.
"I have a note here," he said, "which I was enjoined not to hand you until after this fruit had been set upon your table." He handed me the missive, the superscription of which was, to my astonishment, in the handwriting of Satronius Dromo.

While my fingers tugged at the thread, Tanno commanded: "Read it out loud at once, like the other.