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Chapter 8: Another Supper of Tongues

The next evening, Xanthus’s philosopher friends returned for supper, just as they’d promised. Aesop, following Xanthus’s order to serve the “worst things” he could think of, brought out—guess what?—more tongues! Dish after dish, it was tongues again: boiled, fried, and floating in soup, just like the night before. Xanthus stared, his face turning pink with frustration. “Aesop!” he snapped. “Yesterday, you said tongues were the best food. Now they’re the worst? What’s going on?”
Aesop grinned calmly. “Master,” he said, “tongues can be tricky. They’re part of every naughty thing in the world—lies, fights, sneaky plans—all because people talk before they act. There’s an old saying: ‘Tongue, where are you going?’ And the tongue answers, ‘I can build things up or tear them down!’ So, tongues are the worst when they stir up trouble.”
Xanthus didn’t like that answer one bit. It stung him, like a bee buzzing too close. One of the guests, trying to stir the pot, grumbled, “This servant of yours could drive anyone crazy!” Aesop turned to him quick as a flash. “Sir,” he said, “you must have lots of free time to poke your nose into my master’s business. Maybe you’d rather find something else to do than make trouble here!”
The philosophers chuckled, but Xanthus was still annoyed. Aesop’s sharp words had won the moment, though Xanthus wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

Chapter 9: Aesop Finds a Guest Without a Curious Bone

Xanthus saw his chance to get back at Aesop. “Fine, you clever little troublemaker,” he said. “Since that guest thinks you’re too nosy, go find me someone with no curiosity at all. If you don’t, you’ll be sorry!”
The next day, Aesop roamed the town, looking for just the right person. At last, he spotted a scruffy, lazy fellow sprawled out, not a care in the world. “Perfect,” Aesop thought. He strolled up and said, “Hey, want to come to my master’s house for supper?” The man barely looked up. “Sure,” he mumbled. “What’s your master like? Are we going now?” He seemed thrilled at the idea of free food, like it was a gift from the sky.
“Right this minute!” Aesop said, happy to see the man wasn’t asking much. They walked straight to Xanthus’s house, and the fellow flopped onto a fancy couch, dirt and all, like it was his own bed.
When Xanthus came in for supper, he blinked at the stranger. “Aesop, who’s this?” he asked.
“This,” Aesop replied, “is the man you wanted—no curiosity in him at all!”
Xanthus smirked and whispered to his wife, “Play along, dear. I’ve been waiting for a way to trick Aesop, and this is it.” Then he called out loud, “Sweetheart, bring some water and wash our guest’s feet!”
His wife raised an eyebrow but fetched a basin anyway. She set it by the couch and said, “Put your feet out.” Xanthus expected the man to refuse—who’d let the lady of the house wash their feet? But the fellow just shrugged. “If that’s how you do things here, fine by me!” he said, sticking out his grubby feet.
Next, Xanthus handed him a big cup of drink, thinking he’d pass it back to taste first, as polite guests do. Nope! The man gulped it all down and handed the empty cup back with a burp. Xanthus tried again. When the man dug into a dish of food, Xanthus pretended to be mad. “Cook!” he yelled. “This is terrible! I’ll have you whipped right here!” The guest didn’t blink—just kept eating.
Finally, as they ate pies and cakes, Xanthus scolded the pastry cook. “These are awful—no spices, no flavor!” The cook blamed Xanthus’s wife, saying she’d measured everything. Xanthus turned to her, joking, “If that’s true, you’ll get a whipping too!” He thought surely this would shock the guest into saying something. But the man only grabbed Xanthus’s hand and said, “Hold on—I’ll go get my wife. She can take a turn too!”
Xanthus burst out laughing, even though his plan flopped. He had to admit it: Aesop was right. This fellow didn’t care about anything! Aesop’s cleverness had won again.

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