Aleko ran up.
“Which do you want?”
“Have you the Embros?”
“No, that is published in the morning.”
“I know it, but I thought you might have one left. I always take the Embros, but no one passed here this morning.”
“I have only the evening papers.”
“Well, give me the Hestia, then.”
Aleko picked out one of his three remaining Hestias and held it out, but the old man made no movement to take it. He was tall, straight, and gray haired, and somehow it was not easy to imagine his face as ever having been young. He wore shabby gray clothes, very frayed and stained.
“Here is your Hestia.”
“Put it down here on the step beside me. Take your five lepta,” and from an inner pocket the old man produced a copper coin, but as he held it out, his stick came into sharp contact with Aleko’s elbow. The boy gave a little cry and began to rub it.