“I had to say that to please him.”
“How do you mean?”
“You know, Smurov, I don’t like being asked the same thing twice. I like people to understand at the first word. Some things can’t be explained. According to a peasant’s notions, schoolboys are whipped, and must be whipped. What would a schoolboy be if he were not whipped? And if I were to tell him we are not, he’d be disappointed. But you don’t understand that. One has to know how to talk to the peasants.”
“Only don’t tease them, please, or you’ll get into another scrape as you did about that goose.”
“So you’re afraid?”
“Don’t laugh, Kolya. Of course I’m afraid. My father would be awfully cross. I am strictly forbidden to go out with you.”
“Don’t be uneasy, nothing will happen this time. Hallo, Natasha!” he shouted to a market woman in one of the booths.
“Call me Natasha! What next! My name is Marya,” the middle‐aged market woman shouted at him.
“I am so glad it’s Marya. Good‐by!”
“Ah, you young rascal! A brat like you to carry on so!”