About a week after my arrival at Athens I was enjoying a tête-à-tête, at the Samos Restaurant, with a lamb cutlet of most unexampled obduracy, when there entered a stout individual, somewhere on the wrong side of fifty, dressed with great care, and sporting a gold chain of such length and massiveness that it might have served to fasten up a mastiff. His hands were covered with rings; and, in entering, he made noise enough for ten. Accosting a waiter who could speak Italian, he roared—
“WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK.”
“Giuraddio! What has become of my place?”
“This way,—this way, sir; there are four places at this table.”
It was the one where I was sitting.
The stout gentleman contorted his features with disgust, uttered language which would have been enough for any Arian, and came and sat beside me, remarking—
“Giuraddio! I don’t want my place taken!”
Every one present was looking at him, and smiling compassionately.
Before he had finished unfolding his napkin he was already asking me—