One day in March, Bustianeddu invited Anania to dine with him. The skin-dealer was away on his business, and the boy, after two days' imprisonment for truancy, was alone at home. On his right cheek was the mark of a heavy blow administered by his irate parent.
"They want to make a scholar of me," he said to Anania, spreading out his hands like a man discussing some matter of importance, "but I don't intend to be a scholar. I intend to be a pastry-cook. Why shouldn't I?"
"Yes, why not?" echoed Anania.
"Because they think it disgraceful!" said the other, drawling the word contemptuously, "they think learning a trade is disgraceful when one might be a scholar. That's what my relations say. But I've got a joke ready for them! Just you wait a bit."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll tell you afterwards. Now we'll have dinner."
He had prepared macaroni; at least he gave this name to certain lumps, greasy, and hard as almonds, seasoned with dried tomatoes. The boys ate in company with a grey cat, which snatched morsels from the dish with his paw, and ate them furtively in a corner.
"How clever he is!" said Anania, following the creature with his eyes; "our cat has been stolen!"
"Lots of ours have been stolen. They disappear and we don't know what becomes of them."
"All the cats in the place disappear. What do the people who take the poor things do with them?"