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He turned to Lord Meton, and repeated the words; and just then the birchbark began to settle under them. With one hand gripping the side, Thomas Jefferson Brown leaped over the sea. Lower and lower settled the canoe with almost a scream, Lord Meton cried above the wind: "Good Lord, it won't hold us up!"
The astonishment which this sudden turn in the affair occasioned, was succeeded for a moment by a murmur of assent, which seemed to pass through the assembly; the good sense of many of the spectators being surprised, as it were, into an admission that the sentiment which Meton had so surreptitiously found means to express to them was true. This pause was, however, but momentary.
The republican calendar, which strangely enough was still the old decemviral calendar an imperfect adoption of the -octaeteris- that preceded Meton had by a combination of wretched mathematics and wretched administration come to anticipate the true time by 67 whole days, so that e. g. the festival of Flora was celebrated on the 11th July instead of the 28th April.
They next bade the girl play, and Meton come forward and dance to the music; and he made as though he would do so. When he had obtained silence he said: "Men of Tarentum, you do well in encouraging those who wish to be merry and amuse themselves while they may.
He leaned back for an instant, and signaled Lord Meton to bend over toward him. "Take off your clothes," he said, so low that Lady Isobel couldn't hear. "Can you swim?" "Not a stroke," said Lord Meton, and his face went as white as chalk; but it was no whiter than Thomas Jefferson Brown's.
Meton, clutching with frantic terror to the canoe saw nothing of what happened, nor did he hear the sobbing cry of Lady Isobel's heart as she kissed Thomas Jefferson Brown, once, and then three times, before he dropped back into the sea again. "Good-by, sweetheart!" he said. In the eyes that looked up at her, in his eyes in the one last look of love that he said, "Good-by."
There was one citizen of good repute, named Meton, who, on the day when the final decision was to be made, when the people were all assembled, took a withered garland and a torch, like a drunkard, and reeled into the assembly with a girl playing the flute before him. At this, as one may expect in a disorderly popular meeting, some applauded, and some laughed, but no one stopped him.
These circumstances, and the train of events to which they led, will form the subject of the following chapter. The grand expedition into Italy. The dominion of the Romans. The Tarentines. Various parties formed at Tarentum. Boisterous meetings. Meton's artifice. Meton succeeds in accomplishing his aim. Pyrrhus is invited to come to Tarentum. Great numbers of volunteers. Cineas.
Her name happened to be Hesychia, signifying Repose; and this is probably what the oracle meant that the Athenians had better remain quiet. The astronomer, Meton, who was appointed to some office in the army, either because of these adverse omens and prophecies, or because he was convinced that the expedition would miscarry, pretended to be mad and to set fire to his house.
It was the middle of one of those summer days when strawberries ripen even up there, that the last prop fell out from under Thomas Jefferson, and he became Thomas Jefferson Brown. He met Lady Isobel. The title did not really belong to her, for she was only the cousin of Lord Meton; but Thomas Jefferson Brown called her that from the first.
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