“The i-young cissack to the war has went,
The i-young ladee underneath the fence lies spraw-aw-ling.
AINA, AINA, AI-NA-NA-NA, AI-NA NA-NA-NA.”
In conclusion he took Little White Manka in his arms, wrapped her up in the skirts of his frock and, stretching out his hand and making a tearful face, began to nod his head, bent to one side, as is done by little swarthy, dirty, oriental lads who roam over all Russia in long, old, soldiers’ overcoats, with bared chest of a bronze colour, holding a coughing, moth-eaten little monkey in their bosom.
“And who may you be?” severely asked fat Kate, who knew and loved this joke.
“Me Serbian, lady-y-y,” piteously moaned the actor through his nose. “Give me somethin’, lady-y-y.”
“And what do they call your little monkey?”
“Matreshka-a-a ... Him ’ungry-y-y, lady ... him want eat...”
“And have you got a passport?”
“We Serbia-a-an. Gimme something lady-y-y...”
The actor proved not superfluous on the whole. He created at once a great deal of noise and raised the spirits of the company, which were beginning to be depressing. And every minute he cried out in a stentorian voice:
“KELLNER! Chompa-a-agne!”—although Simeon, who was accustomed to his manner paid very little attention to these cries.