"Very good. I will get tea for you at once—or perhaps vodka would be better?"
"That would be better, for they don't think much of tea."
Stefan showed them a magnet, and made the cuckoo-clock strike to amuse them. He had a certain amount of success with the clock; Wopatka was delighted, but Kituwia's restrained manner threw a chill over everything. The fire crackled merrily in the chimney; the guests threw off their furs and lolled on the benches; Buza burst out laughing from time to time, and Wopatka chuckled quietly, but Kituwia ran his keen glance from one object to another. However, at last even his face lighted up, and, uttering a smothered cry, he pointed to some large stones tied as a weight to the drying reindeer sinews. The guests formed a circle round these and tried to lift them with outstretched arms, but only Kituwia could do this.
When Stefan did the same, the native's face brightened with a look of friendliness. He called Stefan "brother," and passed his hand caressingly over his back and shoulders.
"He is praising you and asking why he never sees you among the people round the tavern."
"Tell him that I haven't time; I am busy."
While Buza was explaining this, Kituwia's face assumed an expression of stony contempt.
"He doesn't believe that you are a smith—and that you are respected by the District Administrator all the same. He is just an ignorant native. With them a strong man only drinks and fights, and looks upon the rest as low."
The guests conscientiously ate and drank what was offered them. At parting Wopatka said, "Brother! Brother!" a countless number of times. The disagreeable smell of badly tanned reindeer skin and rancid reindeer grease remained behind them when they were gone.
"Your fame will spread among the Chukchee; you will have no peace now," Buza said to Stefan in the hall. "We thank you for your invitation. When will you send for us again?"