THE MAN WHO WAITED
a lictor was an officer who carried a bundle of rods and an axe.
“Lictor,” he said, “bid Fabius dismount and come on foot to me it he has any business with me.”
The lictor did as he was ordered. Silence fell upon the people. They looked angrily at the consul; they looked with pity at the old general.
“How wrong,” they said, “for a son to treat a father with such disrespect. And Fabius has spent his life in the service of Rome.”
But Fabius did not think as they did. He alighted from his horse at once, and hastened to his son, and put his arms about him.
“My son,” he said, “I am glad you understand your office. It is in this way that we and our forefathers have made Rome a great city. We have not sought to put our own feelings first. We have placed the honor of Rome above our love for father or son.”
Fabius died in the year 203 B.C. He had been five times consul; and twice he had ridden through the streets of Rome in a triumph or procession of joy after victory. He died poor. You remember how he paid out of his own purse the ransoms of many Roman prisoners. The people of Rome resolved that he should be buried in a way that showed how much they loved his memory. Every
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