Gregorio looked at the two for a minute and then raised himself with an oath.  The woman’s heavy breathing irritated him, for, after all, he argued, it was her duty as well as his to sacrifice herself for the lad.  Moreover, the Jew must be paid, and to-day was that appointed by Amos for the settling of their account.  There was no money to pay it with, and they must lose their furniture, so much at least was certain.  But Amos would not have the best of the bargain, thought the Greek as he looked round the room with a grin, and the certainty that he had got the better of Amos for the moment cheered his spirits.  Then, too, after to-day there would be plenty to eat, for his wife could manage to earn money; nor was the man so mean in his villainy as to shirk any effort to earn money himself.  After first looking at his wife critically and with a satisfied smile, he touched her on the shoulder to wake her.

“I am going out for work,” he said, as Xantippe opened her eyes.

“All right.”

“Good-bye.”

But Xantippe answered not.  She turned her face to the wall wearily as Gregorio left her.

Entering the street he made straight for Amos’s house, and told the porter, who was still lying on the trestle before the door, that he could not pay the Jew’s bill.  Then without waiting for an answer, he hurried off to the quay.

With better luck than on the previous day, he managed to obtain employment for some hours.  The Greek mail-boat had arrived, and under the blazing sun he toiled good-humouredly and patiently.  The work was hard, but it gave him no opportunity of thinking.  He had to be continually dodging large bales of fruit and wine, and if he made a mistake the officer on duty would shout at him angrily, “Lazy dog! you would not have left Greece were you not an idle fellow.”  Such words wounded his pride, and he determined to do so well that he should earn praise.  But the little officer, his bright buttons flashing in the sunlight, who smoked quietly in the intervals of silence, never praised anybody; but he left off abusing Gregorio at last, and when work ceased for the day bade him come again on the morrow.

At sunset Gregorio pocketed his few hard-earned piastres and wandered cityward.  He did not care to go back to his home, for he knew there would be miserable stories to tell of the Jew’s anger, and, moreover, he was terribly thirsty.  So he went into a little cafe—­known as the Penny-farthing Shop—­opposite his house and called for a flask of kephisa.  As he sipped the wine he glanced up nervously at his window and wondered whether his wife had already left home.  Were he sure that she had, he would leave his wine untouched and hasten to look after his son and give him food.  But until he knew Xantippe had gone he would not move.  The sobs of yesterday still disturbed him, and he was more than once on the point of cancelling his resolves.  But as the wine stirred his blood he became satisfied with what he had done and said.  The little cafe at Benhur that was to make his fortune seemed nearly in his grasp.  Had he not, he asked himself, worked all day without a murmur?  It was right Xantippe should help him.