They laughed unwillingly, and soon some one knowingly said:
"Pigs eat everything—little pigs and their own sisters."
The face of the glutton gradually grew darker, his ears became livid, his running eyes crept out of their bony pit, he breathed with difficulty, but his chin moved as regularly as ever.
"Take it easy, Mikhail, there is time!" they encouraged him.
He uneasily measured the remains of the meat with his eyes, drank some beer, and once more began to munch. The spectators became more animated. Looking more often at the watch in the hand of Mishka's master, they suggested to one another:
"Don't you think he may have put the watch back? Take it away from him! Watch Mishka in case he should put any meat up his sleeve! He won't finish it in the time!"
Mishka's master cried passionately:
"I'll take you on for a quarter of a ruble! Mishka, don't give way!"
They began to dispute with the master, but no one would take the bet.
And Mishka went on eating and eating; his face began to look like the ham, his sharp grisly nose whistled plaintively. It was terrible to look at him. It seemed to me that he was about to scream, to wail: