"I have won! You got loaded dice from the landlord, just now, when he brought the wine!" "Not at all, you cheating scoundrel," retorted Agias, who had already scooped in the money, "I have you fairly enough." "Fair ?" shouted Phaon, dashing down the dice again, "they are loaded! Lack-shame! Villain! Whipping-post! Tomb-robber! Gallows-bird! You changed them when you pretended to inspect them! Give me my money, thief, or--" and he took a menacing but unsteady step toward Agias.
The young Greek was ready for the emergency.

He knew that Phaon was almost overcome with his wine, and had no dread of the issue.

A stroke of his fist sent the freedman reeling back against the wall, all the wind pounded from his chest.

"You born blackguard," coughed Phaon, "I won it." Agias was renewing the attack, when the landlord interfered.
Seizing both of the gamesters by their cloaks, he pushed them out a side door into the court-yard.

"Out with you!" cried the host.
"Quarrel without, if you must! This is no place for brawls." Phaon staggered a step or two out into the dark, then reeled and fell heavily upon the dirty pavement.