Anneza looked after the boy, whose bare feet were raising a cloud of dust as he ran, and tapped her forehead.
“A good boy,” she murmured, “but …”
II
It was nearly sunset when Aleko came up to the Kolonaki again with his evening papers, after having sold all he could in the big squares and at the little tables outside the cafés and confectioners’ shops where people sit to eat ices and look at the passers-by.
He was walking slowly up the long straight street, dotted here and there with trees, which leads out of the square, dragging his feet as he walked, for the day had been long and hot. There were not many papers left in his sheaf but every now and then he raised his piercing cry:—
“Astrapi! Hesperini! Hestia!” These were the names of his newspapers.
Suddenly from a narrow side street which he had already passed he heard an answering call.
“Newspapers! Here!”
He turned on his steps and looked down the alley. At the door of a low house stood an old man leaning on a stick. He did not beckon nor make any sign but continued to call, “Newspapers! Here!”