That lady threw water at me, and that other guy wanted to thrash me.”

But why?

“Because I don’t have any money.”

If he had a zloty, everyone would be polite to him.

They’d let him in the movie theater too. And give him water – not just plain, but with juice.

“How many stores is that?”

“Eight.”

“You’re wrong, that’s nine.”

“Maybe I made a mistake.”

They start counting: including the stallholder, it is nine.

“OK, off we go!”

They go into the next store together.

“Please show me a belt,” says Kaytek.

He looks at it, picks it up, and tries it on. He examines the buckle. He counts the holes. He breathes on it, and gives it a rub. He makes a face.

This belt is too thin, this one’s too dark, and that one’s too wide.

As the young lady fetches each one, she puts the last one straight back in the box.

“She’s afraid I’ll steal it,” thinks Kaytek.

And no surprise. All kinds of people hang around in stores. They come along because they’re bored, but they don’t buy anything. And they really do try to steal.

Kaytek knows that, but he’s mad at being suspected.

And he thinks about his pal: “How bold he is now. He comes in with me, but he still can’t open his trap.”

Finally he chooses a belt – a nice one for scouts.

“How much is it?”

“Two zlotys and fifty groshys.”***

“Too expensive.”

“How much did you think it would be, young man?”

“My friend bought one like this for forty groshys.”

“So go to the place where your friend bought his.”

“All right, we will.”

“What a pair of wise guys. One of you does the choosing, while the other cases the joint. I know your type.”

“And I know yours.”

She shouts abuse and chases them out of the store.

“What would you have done if she’d called the cops?”

“You’re dumb.”

Kaytek knows what he’d have done. He’d have searched his pockets, as if he’d lost his money.

But he doesn’t want to talk – his pal will just have to guess.

“So tomorrow you’re paying for a movie.”

He stops and waits for the answer.

His friend hesitates.

“I’ll ask my dad – I’m sure he’ll give it to me.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“Then next Sunday for sure.”

Kaytek makes a face and waves a hand in an annoyed way. He’s thinking: That’s what you get if you make a bet with a squirt like him . . .

In the tobacco store they feel sorry for Kaytek.

He stands timidly in the corner, chewing his cap.

“What do you want, little guy?”

“I’m shy.”

“Come on, tell me, I won’t hurt you.”

“My master told me to buy three cigarettes.”

“What kind?”

“They’ve got an ugly name.”

“Out with it boldly.”

“He said he’ll kill me if I don’t get them.”

“So say it.”

“They’re called ‘Dogsnout’.”

And he covers his eyes with his cap.

“Your master’s been drinking. Let him sleep it off.”

“But he’s only just woken up.”

“Are you from the countryside?” asks the lady.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You can tell at once – so timid. And they send a little kid like that wandering off to town.”

“I’d better go now,” says Kaytek.

“You must be hungry, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Here’s a bread roll. Take it, you poor little orphan boy.”

And whether out of regret or tiredness, Kaytek’s eyes fill with tears.

“Don’t be shy, take it.”

“No, I can’t.”

He hightails it out of there in a hurry.

“Why are you crying?”

“Oh . . . there’s a fly in my eye or something.”

Finally they reach the last store, number twelve. It’s a laundry.

He doesn’t want to go in because he prefers classier stores. But his pal insists.

“Go on in. Don’t be afraid. It’s the last one.”

He isn’t afraid. And he isn’t being cautious.

“Excuse me, can you press a cat for me?”

“A cat?” says the young lady in amazement.

“Yes. A dead one. With a tail.”

But he hasn’t noticed the young lady’s fiancé sitting by the door, who up and grabs him by the scruff of the neck.

“Just you wait. We’ll press you. Pass me a hot iron, Frania.”

He’s strong. He has a firm grip. He lays Kaytek across the ironing board.

“Is this what you want? I’ll give you a stuffed cat all right!”

Kaytek doesn’t try to break free, he just begs the man: “Please let me go.”

Frania, the girl, takes pity on him.

“Let him go, he’s just stupid.”

“He’s not stupid, he’s a con artist – he’s just acting dumb.”

“And I say you’re wrong. He looks like a good kid.”

“I can explain,” groans Kaytek.

“All right, so what’s with the dead cat?”

Kaytek sees the door is open.

Luckily he gave his schoolbag to his pal – that makes it easier to escape.

“Just you wait! We’ll meet again,” the man shouts after him.