"Hold on, old man, I understand him," interrupted Curtis, and he replied, slowly but correctly, in Greek:
"I have been here only two weeks."
"This is a miracle," roared the demarch. "We shall make a Cretan of you; but let us begin eating," and, spearing a piece of bread with his knife, he dipped it into the soup.
"You must do as I do," said Michali, dipping his own chunk and eating it from his fork. "This is lenten soup—black-eyed beans cooked with oil. Over this was the contest between Church and State. The mayor's cook makes famous lenten soup and Kyr' Nikolaki wished to send for some, but Papa-Maleko desired the dinner himself to furnish."
"Kalo?" asked the mayor, holding a huge chunk of dripping bread suspended in midair over the bowl.
"He asks you is it good?" explained Michali to Lindbohm.
"Kalo? kalo?" repeated Kyr' Nikolaki.
"Kalo," replied Lindbohm.
A medium of general communication was now established. Papa-Maleko and Kyr' Nikolaki with nearly every bite smiled upon Curtis and Lindbohm and asked "Kalo?" and they both replied, "Kalo, kalo."
After dinner the demarch departed, taking Michali with him, and Panayota, made up the bed on the floor for Curtis and Lindbohm. She brought in a mattress from outdoors, which somewhat mystified Curtis until he remembered that the stone stairway to the upper regions was built on the outside of the house. She laid a sheet on the mattress and over that a quilt with a sheet sewed to it in such a manner that the end was doubled over and bore the initials, beautifully embroidered, of Panayota Nicolaides.