Alvina carried down the things she had to remove. Then she went to say good-bye to the young men, who were in various stages of their toilet. Max alone was quite presentable.
Ciccio was just putting on the outer cover of his front tire. She watched his brown thumbs press it into place. He was quick and sure, much more capable, and even masterful, than you would have supposed, seeing his tawny Mediterranean hands. He spun the wheel round, patting it lightly.
“Is it finished?”
“Yes, I think.” He reached his pump and blew up the tire. She watched his softly-applied force. What physical, muscular force there was in him. Then he swung round the bicycle, and stood it again on its wheels. After which he quickly folded his tools.
“Will you come now?” she said.
He turned, rubbing his hands together, and drying them on an old cloth. He went into the house, pulled on his coat and his cap, and picked up the things from the table.
“Where are you going?” Max asked.
Ciccio jerked his head towards Alvina.
“Oh, allow me to carry them, Miss Houghton. He is not fit—” said Max.
True, Ciccio had no collar on, and his shoes were burst.