Well now, tell me, how’re you getting on? How’s the wife, and the children? Are they well?” With flashing eyes, and teeth bared in an ironic smile, he added: “I’ve been wanting to pay you a visit for a long time, but I’ve been too busy ... drinking....”

“Now, now! None of that! None of your jokes, you skinny devil! I’ll give it to you hot if you don’t look out! ... What! Do you intend to go robbing in the streets and houses now?”

“Whatever for? There’s plenty of stuff lying about here. Plenty I tell you, Semyonich! I hear you’ve swiped another two bales of cloth! Take care, Semyonich! See you don’t get caught!”

Semyonich trembled with indignation, foamed at the mouth, and tried to say something. Chelkash released his hand and calmly made for the dark gates in long, regular strides. The guard kept close on his heels, swearing like a trooper.

Chelkash brightened up and whistled a merry tune through his teeth. With his hands in his trouser pockets he strode along unhurriedly, throwing biting quips and jests to right and left and getting paid in his own coin.

“Hey, Grishka! Look how the bosses are taking care of you!” shouted a dock labourer from a crowd of men who were sprawling on the ground, resting after dinner.

“I’ve no boots on, so Semyonich is seeing that I don’t step onto something sharp and hurt my foot,” answered Chelkash.

They reached the gates. Two soldiers ran their hands down Chelkash’s clothes and then gently pushed him into the street.

Chelkash crossed the road and sat down on the curbstone opposite a tavern. A file of loaded carts came rattling out of the dock gates. Another, of empty carts, came from the opposite direction, their drivers bumping on the seats. The docks belched forth a howling thunder and clouds of biting dust. . . .

Chelkash felt in his element amidst this frenzied bustle. Solid gains, requiring little labour but much skill, smiled in prospect for him. He was confident of his skill, and wrinkling his eyes he pictured to himself the spree he would have next morning when his pockets were filled with bank notes. . . . He thought of his chum, Mishka; he would have been very useful to him that night if he had not broken his leg. He swore to himself as doubt crossed his mind as to whether he would be able to manage alone, without Mishka. He wondered what the weather would be like at night, and looked at the sky. He lowered his eyes and glanced down the street.

A half a dozen paces away, on the cobbles, leaning back against the curb, sat a young lad in a coarse blue homespun blouse and trousers of the same material, bast shoes on his feet, and a dilapidated brown cap on his head. Beside him lay a small knapsack and a scythe without a haft, wrapped in straw and carefully tied with string. The lad was broad-shouldered, thickset, fair-haired, and had a sunburnt weather-beaten face and large blue eyes, which looked at Chelkash trustfully and good-naturedly.

Chelkash bared his teeth, poked his tongue out, and pulling a horrible face, stared at the lad with wide-open eyes.

The lad blinked in perplexity at first, but soon he burst out laughing and shouted between his chuckles: “Aren’t you funny!” And then, scarcely rising from the ground, he shifted awkwardly over to Chelkash, dragging his knapsack through the dust and rattling the heel of his scythe over the cobble-stones.

“Been on the booze, eh, brother?” he asked Chelkash, tugging at the latter’s trousers.

“Yes, baby, something like that!” confessed Chelkash with a smile. He at once took a fancy to this sturdy, good-natured lad with the bright childish eyes. “You’ve been out haymaking, eh?” he enquired.

“Yes! ... But it was plenty of work and little pay. I made nothing by it. And the people! Hundreds of them! Those people from the famine districts came pouring in and knocked the price down.