The old man, stooping, felt for the newspaper on the doorstep and turned towards the house.
“Come inside with me for a minute, my lad.”
Aleko followed him through a narrow passage and into a little living-room, containing a round table covered with a red and white checked cloth, two cupboards, a high one and a low one, and three odd chairs. On the floor were two or three torn newspapers, and on the low cupboard was a pile of unwashed plates. The dust lay thick everywhere.
Just as they entered, a door leading to another room opened and a stout woman with a dirty blue apron tied round her, looked in; she held a pan in one hand and a plate of salad in the other.
“Your soup is ready,” she began, then catching sight of Aleko she added quickly, “A loustro[4] has followed you in. What does he want?”
“I brought him,” answered Kyr Themistocli. “Sit down, my child.”
But Aleko had been taught that one should never stay when people are about to sit down to a meal.
“With your permission, master, I go to eat bread, and I shall return.”
“No, do not go. Stay and take your soup with me.”
The stout woman muttered something about a rat whose hole was too small for him, but who would drag a pumpkin in as well.