Satisfied the supper wouldn't suffer on account of the food, Menedemos went back to the andron to let his father know. 'A dogfish?' Philodemos said once he'd heard the report. 'Out to bankrupt us, is he? You can eat it once and die happy, but who could afford to eat it twice?' Still, he didn't sound altogether displeased. He wasn't an opsophagos, someone who ate the relish at a feast as if it were bread, but he enjoyed a fine opson as well as any man. So did Menedemos. 'And the eels . . .' His mouth watered in anticipation. 'Out to bankrupt us,' Philodemos repeated. Like his son, he'd been a handsome youth, but the years had left his mouth narrow, his nose sharp, and his eyes cool and hard. When he turned that embittered gaze on Menedemos, his son braced himself for a beating, though it had been several years since his father hit him. 'Sikon won't get the chance to bankrupt us,' Philodemos said. 'You and your cousin will beat him to the punch. Peafowl!' 'If they live, we'll make a good profit,' Menedemos said. 'And if they don't, you might as well have pissed away better than three minai of silver on wine and women and . . . and dogfish,' his father said. 'You act as if we were made of money, not as if we had to go out and make it.' 'Shall I go tell Himilkon he can keep the miserable birds, then?' Menedemos asked. As he'd known his father would, Philodemos tossed his head. 'No, no. You made the bargain. You can't go back on it.' He was a canny merchant, but one of stern rectitude. 'You made the bargain. I only wish you hadn't.' 'Wait till you see the peacock, Father,' Menedemos said. 'Wait till you see him fan his tail out. Then you'll understand.' 'I saw the feather you brought home. I can imagine the bird,' Philodemos said. His attitude was so cut-and-dried, Menedemos was convinced he missed a lot of the juice of life. For his part, Philodemos was at least half convinced he'd raised a wastrel. He went on. 'I wonder how the birds would do boiled and stuffed with olives.' 'I don't know,' Menedemos said. 'I'll tell you this, though, sir: finding out would make dogfish look cheap.' 'Heh.' His father got to his feet. He was lean and leathery and still strong for a man of his years. 'We'd best clear out and let the slaves get the andron ready for tonight.' Sure enough, the slaves started bringing in the couches on which Lysistratos, Sostratos, and the other guests would recline, two to a couch. They set them up around the edge of the andron. Philodemos didn't clear out; he fussed at them till they got the couches exactly as he wanted them. Menedemos had to work to keep from scowling as he listened to those orders. His father had treated him just the same way till he finally grew to manhood - and still did, in absentminded moments or when he thought he could get away with it. Once all seven couches were placed, Philodemos rounded on Menedemos. 'You did arrange for the flutegirls and the acrobat?' he said anxiously. 'It wouldn't be much of a symposion after the feast if we had no entertainers.' 'Yes, Father,' Menedemos assured him. 'Gyllis is sending over Eunoa and Artemeis. They both play well, and they're both supposed to be lively in bed.'
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