“Of course the boy cannot stay long; it is well he comes at all,” and he sighed again.
Suddenly he felt something warm, and soft, and alive on his hands. He was startled.
“What is it?”
“It is only Solon,” said Aleko. “Did you not hear me return? He was barking down the street and I knew he had strayed again from the cook—Anneza—and I brought him for you to see.”
Kyr Themistocli always talked of “seeing” and Aleko had got into the same habit.
“Put your hands over him,—so,—Is he not soft? And clever! as clever as a Christian! Whatever I tell him he understands.”
Kyr Themistocli smiled.
“He is not yours?”
“Mine! No! He belongs to the big house higher up, the one which has the garden. Do you know it? Someone lives there who is called ‘Spinotti.’ ”
“Kyrios Spinotti, the banker; he is a very rich man.”