"What sort of prestige, eh? What sort of prestige?" Bogdanov shouted at him. "What sort of prestige do you want, eh? Are you an official?"
"Oh, but forgive me, Sergey Potapitch," said Machigin persuasively and reasonably. "Among the ignorant peasant classes a badge immediately arouses a feeling of respect—they've been much more respectful lately."
Machigin stroked his red moustache in a self-satisfied way.
"It can't be allowed, young man, it can't be allowed under any consideration," said Bogdanov shaking his head stiffly.
"But please, Sergey Potapitch, a schoolmaster without a badge is like the British lion without a tail," protested Machigin. "He's only a caricature."
"What's a tail got to do with it, eh? Why drag in the tail, eh?" said Bogdanov excitedly. "Why are you mixing it up with politics, eh? What business is it of yours to discuss politics, eh? No, young man, you'd better dispense with the badge. For Heaven's sake, give it up. No, it's impossible. How could it be possible. God preserve us, we can't tell who might find it out!"
Machigin shrugged his shoulders and was about to say something else, but Bogdanov interrupted him—what Bogdanov considered a brilliant idea flashed into his head.
"But you came to me without the badge, without the badge, eh? You yourself feel that it's not the right thing to do."
Machigin was nonplussed for a moment, but found an answer even to this:
"As we are rural schoolmasters we need this privilege in the country, but in town we are known to belong to the intellectual classes."