The little round tables at Yannaki’s, Doree’s, and Zacharato’s were all occupied, in fact those of the latter had spread right out across the square. All around rose the hum of summer night noises, of music, of the cries of the café waiters, the tinkling of many glasses and spoons, and the distant whistle of the Kiphissia train.
Groups of men lounged past, talking and laughing.
A man in one of the groups beckoned to Aleko, a young man with a small dark moustache:—
“Here! Have you any newspapers left?”
Aleko looked up into the pleasant, laughing eyes of his boxing master.
“Oristé!”[9] he cried eagerly. “Certainly, all you want.”
“Ah, is it you, Aleko! Good evening to you! Well, give me the Hestia, the Astrapi, the Hesperini—and the Romios, if you have it.”
Then, when he had gathered them up, he asked laughingly:—
“Now, as we are old friends and I have bought so many newspapers, surely you will take off a discount for me! What shall I give you?”
Aleko, being of pure Greek blood, answered in the good old Greek fashion:—