“You are late, you see, to-day, Aleko; another got before you.”
The lad’s face reddened.
“He always asks for me, and I was waiting for him just there.”
“Oh,” said one of the flower boys, tying up a big bunch of scarlet carnations as he spoke, “your client asked for you all right, but Yoryi here, told him that you had been sent on a message and that he was your partner.”
Yoryi laughed noisily.
“That is how I do business.”
But his laugh broke off in the middle. Aleko had come close to him, and with one well-directed kick had sent the big shoeblack’s box flying into the middle of the road.
Brushes flew here and there, bottles of yellow and black polish were broken and their contents spilt in the dust, and round metal boxes rolled in all directions. Yoryi seized hold of Aleko by the neck and struck him savagely on the head.
“A bad year to you!” he shouted, as blow followed blow. “Did you not know that you would eat stick if you played those tricks on me? Did you not know it? Take that then! And that! And that! Did you think you could touch me and go free?” and the blows came down like rain. At last he flung the smaller boy away from him and began sullenly collecting the scattered contents of his box.
Aleko picked himself up, staggering a little as he stood.