Aleko, who had fallen on his knees beside the overturned basket, put up his arm to ward off further blows.
“But he does! It is I who bring the newspapers to your house, and he sees me every day. Ask Anneza if it be not true?”
“So much the worse if you know him! I suppose someone has put you up to steal the dog. Now, hark you! You are not to dare to come to my house or anywhere near it, and if ever I see your dirty face in our neighbourhood again, I shall hand you over to the police. So now you know!” and picking up the little dog under his arm he turned to go.
“The street is not yours!” burst out Aleko with sudden fury, rubbing his shoulder. “And I shall sell my newspapers there every day!”
“You will! Will you? Very well, when you want any change out of the beating you got just now, you can come to me for it! Do you hear?”
“I hear.”
“Well, remember it then!” and turning on his heel he walked quickly down the street.
Aleko was sore all over, sore in body and sore in mind. Wearily he staggered back to his cellar, threw himself on his mattress, and there in the dark, dropped his head on his arms and sobbed himself to sleep.