"A rouble."
"Make it less to oblige a mate."
"Oh, you fool! What the devil do you want them for?"
"Never mind; you just sell them to me."
At last the bargain was struck, and the clasps were transferred to Mishka for ninety kopeks.
He stopped and began turning them over in his hand, his touzled head bent low, carefully examining them with knit brows.
"Hang 'em on your nose," suggested Semka.
"Why should I?" replied Mishka gravely. "I'll take'em back to the old lady. 'Here, old lady,' I'll say, 'we just took these little things with us by mistake, so you put'em on again,' I'll say, 'in their places—on that same book there.' Only you've torn them out with the stuff; how can she fix them on now?"
"Are you actually going to take them back?" and Semka opened his mouth.
"Why, yes. You see a book like that—it ought to be all whole, you know. It won't do to tear off bits of it. The old lady will be offended, too. And she's not far from her grave. So I'll just—You wait for me a minute. I'll run back."