'I saw him too,' says Grisha. 'Number eight! There's a boy at school can move his ears. Twenty-seven!'
Andrey looks up at Grisha, ponders for a moment and says:
'I can wiggle my ears, too . . .'
'Go on then, wiggle them!'
Andrey moves his eyes, lips and fingers about, and thinks his ears are moving too. Laughter all round.
'I don't like that old Philip,' says Sonya, with a sigh. 'Do you know, he came into the nursery yesterday when I had nothing on but my night-dress ... I felt so embarrassedV
'Lotto!' yells Grisha all of a sudden, grabbing the money from the saucer. 'Lotto! Check if you like!'
The cook's son looks up with a wan expression.
'I'll have to stop playing now,' he says quietly.
'Why?'
'Because I've - I've run out of money.'
'Can't play if you've no money,' says Grisha.
Andrey rummages through his pockets once more just to make quite certain. But when he fails to find anything except crumbs and a chewed-up pencil-stub, his lower lip trembles and he blinks in dis- tress. Any moment now he'll burst into tears . ..
Tll put in a kopeck for you,' says Sonya, unable to bear his expression of suffering. 'Only mind you give it me back later.'
The stakes are placed and the game continues.
'Can you hear bells?' asks Anya, wide-eyed.
They all stop playing and stare at the dark window with open mouths. Beyond the darkness glimmers the reflection of the lamp.
'You're hearing things.'
'When it's night they only ring bells in the cemetery . ..' says Andrey.
'What do they do that for?'
'So that robbers won't break into the church. They're scared of bells.'
'Yes, but what do robbers want to break into the church for?' asks Sonya.
'To murder the watchmen, of course.'
A minute passes in silence. Then they glance at one another, shudder and carry on playing. This time Andrey wins.
'Cheat!' blum out Alyosha in his deep voice.
'No I'm nm, you liar!'
Andrey turns pale, his lower lip trembles, and.wallop! - he gives Alyosha one right on the head. Alyosha glares with rage, jumps up, puts one knee on the table, and wallop! - gives Andrcy one right on the cheek. They each give the other one more slap in the face and burst out howling. All these dreadful goings-on arc too much for Sonya, she too begins to cry, and the dining-room resounds to a cacophony of sobs. Do not imagi"nc, though, that this puts an end to the game. Five minutes later the children arc laughing away again and chaning peaceably. Their faces arc tear-stained, but this doesn't stop them smiling. And Alyosha is positively happy: there's been a good squabble after all!
Into the dining-room comes Vasya, the fifth-former. He looks sleepy and disgruntled.
'What a disgrace!' he thinks, as he watches Grisha squeezing his pocketful of jingling kopecks. 'Fancy letting children have money! And fancy allowing them to play games of chancel Really, I don't know what education is coming to. It's a downright disgrace.'
But the children arc playing with such relish that he too feels an urge to sit down with them and try his luck.
'Hang on,' he says, 'I'll come and have a game.'
'Put your kopeck in first!'
'All right.' he says, rummaging in his pockets. 'I haven't got a kopeck, but here's a rouble. I'll put in a rouble.'
'No, no, no, it must be a kopeck!'
'Don't be silly, a rouble's worth more than a kopeck.' explains the fifth-former. 'Whoever wins can give me change.'
'No, no, we're sorry, but you can't play!'
The fifth-former shrugs his shoulders and goes into the kitchen to get some change from the servants. But there isn't a kopeck to be had in the kitchen either.
'You'll just have to change a rouble for me,' he tackles Grisha again on his return. 'I'll give you commission. No? Then I'll buy ten kopecks from you for a rouble.'
Grisha looks up suspiciously at Vasya. Is it some kind of trick? Is he being swindled?
'Don't want ro,' he says, keeping a right hold on his pocket.
Vasya begins to lose his temper and shout at the players, calling
them oafs and dimwits.
'It's all right, Vasya, I'll put a kopeck in for you,' says Sonya. 'You can sit down.'
The fifth-former takes a seat and places two cards in frontof him. Anya starcs calling the numbers.
'I've dropped a kopeck!' Grisha suddenly announces in alarm. 'Stop the game!'
They unhook the lamp and crawl under the table to look for the kopeck. They grab at old bits of food and nutshells, they bang their heads together, but there's no sign of the kopeck. They start looking all over again and carry on searching until finally Vasya snatches the lamp from Grisha and puts it back in position. Grisha goes on searching in the dark.
But at last the kopeck has been founJ. The players sit down and are about to resume playing.
'Sonya's asleep!' announces Alyosha.
With her curly head resting on her arms, Sonya is enjoying a sweet, untroubled slumber, as though she'd fallen asleep an hour ago. She dropped off by accident, while the others were looking for the kopeck.
'Come and lie down on Mamma's bed,' says Anya, leading her out of the dining-room. 'This way!'
They all troop out with Sonya, and some five minutes later Mamma's bed presents a curious spectacle. Sonya is lying there asleep. Beside her is Alyosha, snoring softly. With their heads resting on the younger children's legs, Grisha and Anya are also sleeping. Andrey, the cook's son, has managed to find room for himself on the bed, too. Scattered all around lie the kopecks, their fascination quite forgotten until the next game. Pleasant dreams!
Revenge
Mr ^ro Tunnanov, an ordmary fellow, with a tidy linle sum in the bank, a young wife and a dignified bald patch, was playing vint at a fnend's binhdav pany. After a panicularly bad hand which made him break into a cold sweat, he suddenly remembered that it was high nmc he had some more vodka. He got up, tiptoed his way the tables with a dignified, rolling gait, negotiated the drawmg-room where the young people were dancing (here he smiled condescendingly at a weedy young chemist and gavc him a fatherly pat on the shoulder), then nip^^ smanly through a small door into the pantry. Here on a small round table stood bottles and vodka decanters, while on a nearby plate, amid the other delicacies, a half^ten hernng peped out from its green trimmings of chive and pal'liley ... After pouring himself some vodka and [Widdling his fingel'li in the air as if about to make a speech, knocked it back, pulled a frightful face, and had just stuck a fork into the herring when he heard voices on the other side of the wall ...
'Yes, by all means,' a woman's voice was saying pertly. 'Only is it to be?'
'My wife,' thought 'But who's she v.ith?'
'Wbenever you like, dear,' replied a deep, fruiry baK. 'Today's scarcely con\'enient, tomorrow I'm busy the whole blessed day ...'
'Why, that's Mool'liky!' thought Tunnanov, recognising the ba^ voice as that of a friend of his. 'Јt tu, Bn^te! So she's got her claws into )'ou as well, has she? What a restless, insatiable crearure! Can't let a day go by without some ne-w affair!'
'Yes, I'm busy tomorrow,' the bass voice continued. 'But why not drop me a line instead? I'd look forward to that ... Only we must decide how we're going to communicate, think up a good dodge. The ordinary post is scarcely convenient. If I write to you., your old paunch of a husband may intercept the lener from the postman, and if you write to me, it'll arrive when I'm out and my bener half is sure to open iL'
'^^at shall we do then?'
'We must think up a good dod^. It's no use relying on the servants, either, ^rause Double-Chins is bound to have your maid and footman under his thumb . . . Where is he, by the way, playing cards?'
'Yes. Still keeps losing, the poor fool!'
'Unlucky at cards, lucky in love,' said Moorsky, laughing. 'Now here's what I suggest, my pet . . . Tomorrow evening, when I leave the office, I shall walk through the park at exactly six o'clock on my way toseethe keeper. What you must do, love, is put your note by six o'clock at the latest inside that marble urn -you know, the one to the left of the vine arbour . . .'