“I thank you for the good food. To-morrow, then, I shall come at three.”
The old man stood up and felt for Aleko’s head.
“I want to see how tall you are. Ah, you are well above my shoulder, that is a good height for twelve. Are you strong? Do you have gymnastics at the Parnassos?”
“Yes, in the square outside. I know all the movements; and there is one member—not the one who comes to the lessons, another who has been abroad—and he is teaching us boxing.”
“Boxing?” echoed the old man. This was new for him.
“It is how to fight with your hands; and he says that I shall learn well and soon.”
“That is not real learning,” objected Kyr Themistocli, “that is play.”
“I do not know,” answered Aleko, “but it is very useful for me, because there are some of the boys who will not understand things unless you explain with your fists. Now I go,” he added. “I must be at the school at eight o’clock. Good night, master.”
“Good night, my child.”
But from the door he rushed back again.