“You see the question.... What would you do, brothers?... Could he cross himself with his left hand?...”
“What, what?” The farmer waved his hand. “You can’t use the left hand.... That’s for Satan....”
“But he’d lost the fingers on the right, so he couldn’t join them.... Had only the palm left!...”
“That’s so....”
The riddle became more popular. The passengers nearby listened; those further off got up and walked nearer to the speaker. Even the young merchant who was talking very authoritatively about politics at the tea table with a fat gentleman, deigned to turn his benevolent attention to the all-ingrossing riddle. He tapped with his spoon and beckoned to the waiter.
“Waiter, how much?... O-oh! What did you say: with the fist?”
“Yes, your excellency, among ourselves.... It doesn’t interest you....”
“No, but it’s really clever, isn’t it?” remarked the merchant to his fat friend.
The latter’s answer was unintelligible, for the man was struggling with a slice of bread and butter.