Chelkash felt that he had no inclination now to talk to him, yet he asked him another question: "Where are you going now?"
"Why, where should I go? Home, to be sure."
"Well, mate, I couldn't be sure of that, you might be on your way to Turkey."
"To Th-urkey!" drawled the youth. "Why, what good Christian ever goes there! Well I never!"
"Oh, you fool!" sighed Chelkash, and again he turned away from his companion, conscious this time of a positive disinclination to waste another word on him. This stalwart village lad roused some feeling in him. It was a vague feeling of annoyance, that grew instinctively, stirred deep down in his heart, and hindered him from concentrating himself on the consideration of all that he had to do that night.
The lad he had thus reviled muttered something, casting occasionally a dubious glance at Chelkash. His cheeks were comically puffed out, his lips parted, and his eyes were screwed up and blinking with extreme rapidity. He had obviously not expected so rapid and insulting a termination to his conversation with this long-whiskered ragamuffin. The ragamuffin took no further notice of him. He whistled dreamily, sitting on the stone post, and beating time on it with his bare, dirty heel.
The young peasant wanted to be quits with him.
"Hi, you there, fisherman! Do you often get tipsy like this?" he was beginning, but at the same instant the fisherman turned quickly towards him, and asked:
"I say, suckling! Would you like a job to-night with me? Eh? Tell me quickly!"
"What sort of a job?" the lad asked him, distrustfully.