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"He is the son of my sister, Olga Ivanovna," answered Kuzmitchov. "And where is he going?" "To school. We are taking him to a high school." In his politeness, Moisey Moisevitch put on a look of wonder and wagged his head expressively. "Ah, that is a fine thing," he said, shaking his finger at the samovar. "That's a fine thing.
Moisey Moisevitch, who was rummaging in the chaise and assisting the travellers to alight, suddenly turned back and shouted in a voice as frantic and choking as though he were drowning and calling for help: "Solomon! Solomon!" "Solomon! Solomon!" a woman's voice repeated indoors.
God has robbed him of his wits, so it is God's will, and how am I to blame?" Ten minutes passed and Moisey Moisevitch was still muttering in an undertone and sighing: "He does not sleep at night, and is always thinking and thinking and thinking, and what he is thinking about God only knows. If you go to him at night he is angry and laughs.
"And I said to him, 'God bless your compressed air!" he brought out through his laughter, waving both hands. "God bless your compressed air!" Moisey Moisevitch got up, too, and with his hands on his stomach, went off into shrill laughter like the yap of a lap-dog. "God bless the compressed air!" repeated Father Christopher, laughing.
Moisey Moisevitch laughed two notes higher and so violently that he could hardly stand on his feet. "Oh dear!" he moaned through his laughter. "Let me get my breath . . . . You'll be the death of me." He laughed and talked, though at the same time he was casting timorous and suspicious looks at Solomon. The latter was standing in the same attitude and still smiling.
"I thank you for your kindness. . . . Of course, if it were for me to decide, I shouldn't think twice about it; but as it is, the wool is not mine, as you know. . . ." Moisey Moisevitch came in on tiptoe. Trying from delicacy not to look at the heaps of money, he stole up to Yegorushka and pulled at his shirt from behind.
This was Solomon, the brother of Moisey Moisevitch. He went up to the chaise, smiling rather queerly, and did not speak or greet the travellers. "Ivan Ivanitch and Father Christopher have come," said Moisey Moisevitch in a tone as though he were afraid his brother would not believe him. "Dear, dear! What a surprise! Such honoured guests to have come us so suddenly!
"I admonish you to the best of my ability, and you are angry. I speak to you like an old man quietly, and you answer like a turkeycock: 'Bla -bla -bla! You really are a queer fellow. . . ." Moisey Moisevitch came in. He looked anxiously at Solomon and at his visitors, and again the skin on his face quivered nervously.
"Come along, little gentleman," he said in an undertone, "come and see the little bear I can show you! Such a queer, cross little bear. Oo-oo!" The sleepy boy got up and listlessly dragged himself after Moisey Moisevitch to see the bear.
Yegorushka did eat it, though after the goodies and poppy-cakes he had every day at home, he did not think very much of the honey, which was mixed with wax and bees' wings. He ate while Moisey Moisevitch and the Jewess looked at him and sighed. "Where are you going, dearie?" asked the Jewess. "To school," answered Yegorushka. "And how many brothers and sisters have you got?"
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