"Nay, but tell us more, good man!"
"Ah, that's why we have had such bright dawns and sunsets!" exclaimed the khokhol whose backbone had ached, with conviction.
"It is only a rumour," said I. "No doubt all this sounds very much like falsehood...."
Promtov regarded me with genuine amazement and exclaimed fiercely:
"What rumour? What lies? What do you mean?"
And there poured from his lips the melody of a most audacious falsehood—sweet music for all who were listening to him except myself. He liked the fun of spinning yarns. The khokhli, whom he wanted to persuade, were ready to jump into his mouth. But it was abominable to me to listen to his inspired falsehoods, which might very well result in bringing down a great misfortune upon the heads of these simple-minded folks. I left the hut and lay down in the courtyard thinking how best I could spoil the villainous game of my travelling-companion. His voice sounded for a long time in my ears, and then I fell asleep.
I was awakened by Promtov at sunrise.
"Get up! Let's be off!" he said.
Beside him stood the sleepy master of the hut, and the knapsack of Promtov was bulging out on all sides. We took our leave and departed. Promtov was merry. He sang, he whistled, and cast ironical sidelong glances at me. I was thinking what I should say to him and walked by his side in silence.
"Well! why don't you crucify me?" he suddenly asked.