“You are a queer man, I must confess.”
“I am a simple man—a savage. I have given him a thrashing and now I feel jolly, and as to the result, let come what will.’
“I am afraid that it will result in something bad. Do you know—to be frank, in return for your frankness—I also like you, although—Mm! It is rather dangerous to be with you. Such a knightly temper may come over you and one may get a thrashing at your hands.”
“How so? This was but the first time. I am not going to beat people every day, am I?” said Foma, confused. His companion began to laugh.
“What a monster you are! Listen to me—it is savage to fight—you must excuse me, but it is abominable. Yet, I must tell you, in this case you made a happy selection. You have thrashed a rake, a cynic, a parasite—a man who robbed his nephews with impunity.”
“Well, thank God for that!” said Foma with satisfaction. “Now I have punished him a little.”
“A little? Very well, let us suppose it was a little. But listen to me, my child, permit me to give you advice. I am a man of the law. He, that Kayazev, is a rascal! True! But you must not thrash even a rascal, for he is a social being, under the paternal custody of the law. You cannot touch him until he transgresses the limits of the penal code. But even then, not you, but we, the judges, will give him his due. While you must have patience.”
“And will he soon fall into your hands?” inquired Foma, naively.
“It is hard to tell. Being far from stupid, he will probably never be caught, and to the end of his days he will live with you and me in the same degree of equality before the law. Oh God, what I am telling you!” said Ookhtishchev, with a comical sigh.
“Betraying secrets?” grinned Foma.