"Go to the devil!" exclaimed Kouvalda.
His conversations with "Scraps" always finished in this way. When the schoolmaster was not about, the captain knew well that his speeches were only wasted, and were lost for want of understanding and appreciation. But for all that, he couldn't help talking, and now, having snubbed his interlocutor, he felt himself lonely amongst the others. His desire for conversation was not, however, satisfied, and he turned therefore to Simtzoff with a question.
"And you, Alexai Maximovitch, where will you lay your old head?"
The old man smiled good-naturedly, rubbed his nose with his hand, and explained—
"Don't know! Shall see by and by. I'm not of much account. A glass of vodka, that's all I want."
"A very praiseworthy ambition, and very simple," said the captain.
After a short silence Simtzoff added that he would find shelter more easily than the rest, because the women liked him.
This was true, for the old man had always two or three mistresses among the prostitutes, who would keep him sometimes for two or three days at a time on their scant earnings. They often beat him, but he took it stoically. For some reason or other they never hurt him much; perhaps they pitied him. He was a great admirer of women, but added that they were the cause of all his misfortunes in life. The close terms on which he lived with women, and the character of their relations towards him, were shown by the fact that his clothes were always neatly mended, and cleaner than the clothes of his companions. Seated now on the ground at the door of the doss-house amidst his mates, he boastfully related that he had for some time been asked by Riedka to go and live with her, but that he had till now refused, not wanting to give up the present company.
He was listened to with interest, mingled with envy. All knew Riedka; she lived not far down the hill, and only a few months ago she came out of prison after serving a second term for theft. She had formerly been a wet nurse; a tall, stout, strapping countrywoman, with a pock-marked face, and fine eyes, somewhat dulled by drink.
"The old rogue!" cursed "Scraps," watching Simtzoff, who smiled with self-satisfaction.