"Valentin Katayev. The Cottage in the Steppe (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

disposed of the matter, Krylevich, whom Vasily Petrovich had always found to
be an unpleasant person, remained for tea. He stayed for an hour and a half,
was incredibly boring, and kept turning the conversation to Tolstoi,
praising Vasily Petrovich for his courage, and begging him for his notes,
saying he wanted to read them at home. Father refused, and his refusal upset
Krylevich. Standing in front of the mirror in the hall, putting on his flat,
greasy cap with the cockade of the Ministry of Education, he said with a
sugary smile:
"I'm sorry you don't want to give me the pleasure, really sorry. Your
modesty is worse than pride."
His visit left a nasty after-taste.
There were other minor happenings of the same order; for instance, some
of their acquaintances would greet Vasily Petrovich in the street with
exaggerated politeness, while others, on the' contrary, were unusually curt
and made no attempt to conceal their disapproval.
Then, just before Christmas, the storm broke.
`


A HEAVY BLOW






Pavlik, who had just been "let out" for the holidays, was walking up
and down in front of the house in his overlong winter topcoat, meant to last
several seasons, and his new galoshes which made such a pleasant crunching
sound and left such first-rate dotted prints with an oval trade mark in the
middle on the fresh December snow. His report-card for the second quarter
was in his satchel. His marks were excellent, there were no unpleasant
reprimands and he even had "excellent" for attention, diligence, and
behaviour, which, to tell the truth, was overdoing it a bit. But, thanks to
his innocent chocolate-brown crystal-clear eyes, Pavlik had the happy knack
of always landing on his feet.
The boy's mood harmonized with the holiday season, and only one tiny
little worm of anxiety wriggled down in the deep recesses of his soul. The
trouble was that today, after the last lesson, the preparatory class,
throwing caution to the winds, had organized another "obstruction." This
time they took revenge on the doorman who had refused to let them out before
the bell rang. The boys got together and tossed somebody's galosh into the
cast-iron stove that stood next 'to the cloak-room, with the result that a
column of acrid smoke rose up, and the doorman had to flood the stove with
water. At that moment the bell rang, and the preparatory class scattered in
a body. Now Pavlik was worried that the inspector might get to know about
their prank, and that would lead to serious complications. This was the sole
blot in his feeling of pure joy at the thought of the holidays ahead.
Suddenly Pavlik saw what he feared most. A messenger was coming down
the street and heading straight for him; he wore a cap with a blue band land