“I hear many matters spoken of here,” hinted Rimsky with confidential air. “About where governors are and such talk.”
“Is Zorogoff a good man?” asked Peter.
“It is a very cold day outside, true,” said Rimsky. “But this is a good place to hear gossip.”
“I care nothing for gossip. But I can see that you live on it, as an old gander lives on snails,” said Peter laughingly. “I am going to the Dauria—I am an American officer. But see that you do not gossip about me, old fellow.”
Rimsky wagged his old head and cackled wisely.
“A tight lip fools the devil,” warned Peter. “If you talk I’ll tell Zorogoff you charged me double for cigarettes. But I’ll come in and see you some day, and bring a bottle of vodka.”
“Then God guard you till you return!” cried Rimsky, and Peter went out through the door of the hut.
Rimsky sat chuckling into his beard after Peter had departed. And more than once the old cigarette-seller told himself, “The sturgeon does not become a sterlet because he leaves the river for the lake, and the Russian does not become a foreigner by changing his coat.” That was a saying of wise men.