"They're always running after me, but I don't want girls so loose that they run away from home."
He was afraid that he would get a beating, for the Soldiers' Baths were situated in a lonely place on the outskirts of the town.
When the dense, noisy, uproariously gay crowd was pushing its way into every part of the Club House, from the door of the dancing hall came a noise, laughter and exclamations of approval. Everyone crowded in that direction. It was announced from one to another that a fearfully original mask had come in. A thin, tall man, in a greasy, patched dressing-gown, with a besom under his arm, with a hat in his hand, made his way through the crowd. He had a cardboard mask on,—a stupid face, with a small, narrow beard and side whiskers, and on his head was a cap with a round official badge. He kept repeating in an astonished voice:
"They told me there was a masquerade[1] here, but no one seems to be bathing."
And he languidly swung a pail. The crowd followed him, exclaiming, and genuinely admiring his original idea.
"He'll get the prize," said Volodin enviously.
Like many others, he envied unthinkingly—he himself wore no costume, so why should he be envious? Machigin was enthusiastic over this costume, the badge especially aroused his delight. He laughed uproariously, clapped his hands, and observed to acquaintances and to strangers:
"A fine criticism! These officials always make a great deal of themselves—they wear badges and uniforms. Well, here's a fine criticism for them—very clever indeed."
When it got hot, the official in the dressing-gown began to fan himself with the besom, exclaiming: