"I have hopes of our Philosopher yet," said Mohi.

"Outrageous impostor! fool, dotard, oaf! Did he think to bejuggle me
with his preposterous gibberish? And is this shallow phraseman the
renowned Doxodox whom I have been taught so highly to reverence? Alas,
alas--Odonphi there is none!"

"His fit again," sighed Yoomy.



CHAPTER LXVIII
King Media Dreams


That afternoon was melting down to eve; all but Media broad awake; yet
all motionless, as the slumberer upon the purple mat. Sailing on, with
open eyes, we slept the wakeful sleep of those, who to the body only
give repose, while the spirit still toils on, threading her mountain
passes.

King Media's slumbers were like the helmed sentry's in the saddle.
From them, he started like an antlered deer, bursting from out a
copse. Some said he never slept; that deep within himself he but
intensified the hour; or, leaving his crowned brow in marble quiet,
unseen, departed to far-off councils of the gods. Howbeit, his lids
never closed; in the noonday sun, those crystal eyes, like diamonds,
sparkled with a fixed light.

As motionless we thus reclined, Media turned and muttered:--"Brother