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

"Correct!"
"There you are!"
"Don't forget: I'll question you on the whole course when I get back!"
Then came that disconcerting pause that always precedes the third
whistle, when neither those on board nor those on the pier know what to say
or do. Auntie was rummaging in her bag for her handkerchief in order to
start waving it at any moment. Gavrik kept his eyes on Petya's cap.
"You might as well go, there's no sense standing about here," Vasily
Petrovich said to Auntie as he leaned over the rail.
"What? What did you say?" Auntie asked, holding her hand to her ear.
"I said you might as well go home!" Vasily Petrovich shouted.
But Auntie shook her head so vigorously that it would seem her one duty
in life was to stay there to the very end.
"Duckie dear," she shouted to Pavlik through her tears, "it'll be cold
at sea. You had better go put on your coat."
Pavlik winced and walked away independently, so that none of the
passengers would think he was "duckie dear." "Duckie dear, put on your
woollen stockings!" There was no stopping Auntie now.
Pavlik had to assume a very casual expression again, to show that none
of this had anything to do with him, although to tell the truth his heart
was heavy at the prospect of parting with Auntie.
The blast of the third whistle shattered the air over the ship. With a
feeling of relief the crowd on 'board and the crowd on the pier began to
wave handkerchiefs, hats, and umbrellas. However, they were a little
premature, the ship still remained at her berth.
The captain's mate, the coastguard officer and a group of soldiers with
green shoulder-straps appeared on deck again. The officer began to return
the passengers' passports. Just then Petya noticed a strangely
familiar-looking man standing behind the officer. He was la shabby
individual in a straw hat and there was something sad and dog-like about his
eyes. As he slowly scrutinized the passengers he raised a dark pince-nez to
his fleshy nose. At that moment Petya recognized Moustache-the same
moustached sleuth who had chased seaman Zhukov all over the decks of the
Turgenev five years before.
At that moment the sleuth looked at Petya, and their eyes met. There
was no way of telling whether he had recognized the boy or not, but he
immediately turned round to the officer and whispered something in his ear.
Petya felt a chill run down his spine. The officer, holding a stack of
passports in his hand as he walked over to Vasily Petrovich and jerking his
chin at Petya, barked:
"Your son?"
"Yes."
"Then kindly remove the St. George ribbon from his cap. If you do not,
I will be forced to escort you ashore and take up the matter of your son's
unauthorized wearing of military uniform. It's against the law at home and
even more so abroad."
"Petya, take the ribbon off this minute!"
"Here's your passport. I'll see to the ribbon. You can claim it in the
commandant's office when you return."
Gavrik, watching from the pier, saw the officer and soldiers surround