“Don’t ask me again! You rascal, I’ll never go with you again. Don’t you dare to ask me! I refuse.”
“It’s my business whether I ask you or not.... Yours is to go or not.”
“A serious-minded gentleman!” The wanderer nodded after him as he started off.
“He doesn’t approve of us,” the little man said in a voice that was between a sigh and a squeak.
“What do we care whether he does or not?” remarked the preacher indifferently. Then he turned to me:
“Haven’t you a cigarette, sir?... Please.”
I held out my case to him. He took out two cigarettes, lighted one and placed the other beside him. His small companion interpreted this in a favorable way and rather irresolutely reached for the free cigarette. But the preacher, with perfect composure, took the cigarette out of his hands and placed it on the other side. The little fellow was embarrassed, again squeaked from shame and straightened his robes.
I gave him a cigarette. This embarrassed him still more,—his thin, transparent fingers trembled; he smiled sadly and bashfully.
“I don’t know how to beg,” he said in shame. “Avtonomov orders and orders.... But I can’t.”