Then his
thoughts reverted to his friend Michka, who would have been of so much
use to him that night, if he had not broken his leg. Tchelkache swore
inwardly at the thought that for want of Michka he might perhaps fail
in his enterprise. What was the night going to be?--He questioned the
sky and inspected the street.
Six steps away, was a boy squatting in the road near the sidewalk, his
back against a post; he was dressed in blue blouse and trousers, tan
shoes, and a russet cap. Near him lay a little bag and a scythe,
without a handle, wrapped in hay carefully bound with string. The boy
was broad shouldered and fairhaired with a sun-burned and tanned face;
his eyes were large and blue and gazed at Tchelkache confidingly and
pleasantly.
Tchelkache showed his teeth, stuck out his tongue, and, making a
horrible grimace, stared at him persistently.
The boy, surprised, winked, then suddenly burst out laughing and cried:
"O! how funny he is!"
Almost without rising from the ground, he rolled heavily along toward
Tchelkache, dragging his bag in the dust and striking the stones with
his scythe.
"Eh! say, friend, you've been on a good spree!" said he to Tchelkache,
pulling his trousers.
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