"Just so, little one, just so!" frankly replied Tchelkache. This
robust and artless lad pleased him from the first.
"Have you come from the hay-harvest?"
"Yes. I've mowed a verst and earned a kopek! Business is bad! There
are so many hands! The starving folks have come--have spoiled the
prices. They used to give sixty kopeks at Koubagne. As much as that!
And formerly, they say, three, four, even five rubles."
"Formerly!--Formerly, they gave three rubles just for the sight of a
real Russian. Ten years ago, I made a business of that. I would go to
a village, and I would say: 'I am a Russian!' At the words, everyone
came flocking to look at me, feel of me, marvel at me--and I had three
rubles in my pocket! In addition, they gave me food and drink and
invited me to stay as long as I liked."
The boy's mouth had gradually opened wider and wider, as he listened to
Tchelkache, and his round face expressed surprised admiration; then,
comprehending that he was being ridiculed by this ragged man, be
brought his jaws together suddenly and burst, out laughing. Tchelkache
kept a serious face, concealing a smile under his moustache.
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