handful!--of Gauls and Iberians to polish up till they were sent to
their stations up-country. I did my best, and one night a villa in the
suburbs caught fire, and I had my handful out and at work before any of
the other troops. I noticed a quiet-looking man on the lawn, leaning on
a stick. He watched us passing buckets from the pond, and at last he
said to me: "Who are you?"

'"A probationer, waiting for a command," I answered. _I_ didn't know who
he was from Deucalion!

'"Born in Britain?" he said.

'"Yes, if you were born in Spain," I said, for he neighed his words like
an Iberian mule.

'"And what might you call yourself when you are at home?" he said,
laughing.

'"That depends," I answered; "sometimes one thing and sometimes another.
But now I'm busy."

'He said no more till we had saved the family gods (they were
respectable householders), and then he grunted across the laurels:
"Listen, young sometimes-one-thing-and-sometimes-another. In future call
yourself Centurion of the Seventh Cohort of the Thirtieth, the Ulpia
Victrix. That will help me to remember you. Your Father and a few other
people call me Maximus."

'He tossed me the polished stick he was leaning on, and went away. You
might have knocked me down with it!'