So they went to the little inn and bought vodka and fresh gherkins from the woman with the red kerchief.
“Aha! you seem to be pretty flush of money, my friend,” said Ivanoff, as Sanine produced his purse.
“I’ve had an advance,” replied the latter, smiling. “Much to my mother’s annoyance, I have accepted the secretaryship of an assurance agency. In this way I was able to get a little cash as well as maternal contempt.”
When they regained the high-road, Ivanoff exclaimed:
“Oh! I feel ever so much better now!”
“So do I. Suppose we take off our boots?”
“All right.”
Having taken off their boots and socks, they walked barefoot through the warm, moist sand, which was a delightful experience after trudging along in heavy boots.
“Jolly, isn’t it?” said Sanine, as he drew a deep breath.
The sun’s rays had now become far hotter. The town lay well in their rear as the two wayfarers plodded bravely on towards the blue, nebulous horizon. Swallows sat in rows on the telegraph-wires. A passenger-train with its blue, yellow and green carriages rolled past on the adjacent line, and the faces of drowsy travellers could be seen at the windows.