“What else do you want?” asked Sanine, without raising his voice.
“We want nothing,” replied Schafroff in confusion, “but all my fellow- comrades wish me to express their displeasure at—”
“Much I care about your displeasure!” hissed Sanine through his clenched teeth. “You asked me to say something about the deceased, and after I had said what I thought, you come and express to me your displeasure! Very good of you, I’m sure! If you weren’t a pack of silly, sentimental boys, I would show you that I was right, and that Svarogitsch’s life was an absolutely foolish one, for he worried himself about all sorts of useless things and died a fool’s death, but you—well, you’re all of you too dense and too narrow-minded for words! To the deuce with the lot of you! Be off, I say!”
So saying, he walked straight on, forcing the crowd to make way for him.
“Don’t push, please!” croaked Schafroff, feebly protesting.
“Well of all the insolent …” cried some one, but he did not finish his phrase.
“How is it you frighten people like that?” asked Ivanoff, as they walked down the street. “You’re a perfect terror!”
“If such young fellows with their mad ideas about liberty were always to come bothering you,” replied Sanine, “I expect that you would treat them in a much rougher way. Let them all go to hell!”
“Cheer up, my friend!” said Ivanoff, half in jest and half in earnest. “Do you know what we’ll do? Buy some beer and drink to the memory of Yourii Svarogitsch. Shall we?”
“If you like,” replied Sanine carelessly.