There were probably a dozen Theban nobles
of various ages grouped in attitudes of hushed expectancy in the bow.
One robust peer, with a boat-hook in his hand, leaned over the prow.
Another, barely older than fourteen, had mounted the side of the boat,
and steadying himself by the shoulder of a young lord, gazed ahead at
the group in the bow of Senci's boat.
"By the horns of Isis," he whispered in disgust, "the most of them are
babes!"
The robust noble turned his head and jeered good-naturedly under his
breath.
"Mark the infant sneering at the buds. But be of cheer. One is there,
ripe enough to sate your green appetite."
"Nay! do you distribute them now? Let me make my choice, then."
But a general chorus of whispered protests arose.
"Hold, not so fast. The fan-bearer first. 'Twas he who hit upon the
plan."
The nose of the pursuing boat crept alongside the stern of the one
pursued, and the oars rested in obedience to a whispered order. The
diagonal current which moved out from the Arabian shore, and the
backward wash of water from the oars of the forward boat, heaved the
head of the nobles' barge toward its object. The robust courtier
leaned forward and made fast to his captive with the hook.
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