Sergey looked upon the scene with curiosity and astonishment, and at last nudged the old man in the side and said:
“Grandfather Lodishkin, what’s the matter with him? Can’t they give him a beating?”
“A beating—I like that.... That sort isn’t beaten, but beats everybody else. A crazy boy; ill, I expect.”
“Insane?” enquired Sergey.
“How should I know? Hst, be quiet!...”
“Ai-yai-ya-a! Scum, fatheads!” shouted the boy, louder and louder.
“Well, begin, Sergey. Now’s the time, for I know!” ordered Lodishkin suddenly, taking hold of the handle of his organ and turning it with resolution. The snuffling and false notes of the ancient galop rose in the garden. All the people stopped suddenly and looked round; even the boy became silent for a few seconds.
“Ah, God in heaven, they will upset my poor Trilly still more!” cried the lady in the blue dressing-jacket, with tears in her eyes. Chase them off, quickly, quickly. Drive them away, and the dirty dog with them. Dogs have always such dreadful diseases. Why do you stand there helplessly, Ivan, as if you were turned to stone? She shook her handkerchief wearily in the direction of grandfather and the little boy; the lean, red-nosed girl made dreadful eyes; someone gave a threatening whisper; the lackey in the dress coat ran swiftly from the balcony on his tiptoes, and, with an expression of horror on his face, cried to the organ grinder, spreading out his arms like wings as he spoke:
“Whatever does it mean—who permitted them—who let them through? March! Clear out!...”
The organ became silent in a melancholy whimper.