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Updated: June 5, 2025
Raffles and I sat apart at one of the smaller tables by the window, where we could hear as much of the conversation at the larger board as we wished so many members of "The Heraclean" are deaf that to talk loud has become quite de rigueur there and at the same time hold converse with each other in tones best suited to the confidential quality of our communications.
By some men and I am one of them the club, despite the bad name that clubs in general have as being antagonistic to the home, is looked upon as an institution that should be guarded almost as carefully against the intrusion of improper persons as is one's own habitat, and while I should never have admitted for a moment that Raffles was an undesirable chap to have around, I could not deny that in view of certain characteristics which I knew him to possess, the propriety of taking him into "The Heraclean" was seriously open to question.
Such as he is, however, he has all the proper attributes of that God: the lion's-skin hangs over his shoulders, his right hand grasps the club, his left the strung bow, and a quiver is slung at his side; nothing is wanting to the Heraclean equipment.
And as, when both sides were fully armed, and it was now evident that a battle would take place, the people who had provisions for sale, with some of the baggage-carriers and others who were unwilling to fight, were proceeding first of all to quit the camp of the Boeotians, the mercenaries under Hiero the Phocian peltasts, and the Heraclean and Phliasian cavalry, making a circuit, fell upon them as they were going off, turned them back, and pursued them to the Boeotian camp; so that they made the army of the Boeotians larger and more numerous than before.
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