"Who amused you?" asked the priest who taught Scripture in the
school, going up to Ahineev.
"Vankin. I was standing in the kitchen, you know, looking at the
sturgeon. . . ."
And so on. Within half an hour or so all the guests knew the
incident of the sturgeon and Vankin.
"Let him tell away now!" thought Ahineev, rubbing his hands. "Let
him! He'll begin telling his story and they'll say to him at once,
'Enough of your improbable nonsense, you fool, we know all
about it!"
And Ahineev was so relieved
that in his joy he drank four
glasses
too
many.
After
escorting the young people to
their room, he went to bed and
slept like an innocent babe, and
next day he thought no more of
the incident with the sturgeon.
But, alas! man proposes, but
God disposes. An evil tongue
did its evil work, and Ahineev's
strategy was of no avail.
Just a week later--to be precise, on Wednesday after the third
lesson--when Ahineev was standing in the middle of the teacher's
room, holding forth on the vicious propensities of a boy called
Visekin, the headmaster went up to him and drew him aside:
"Look here, Sergei Kapitonich," said the headmaster, "you must
excuse me. . . . It's not my business; but all the same I must
make you realize. . . . It's my duty. You see, there are rumours
that you are romancing with that . . . cook. . . . It's nothing to do
with me, but . . . flirt with her, kiss her . . . as you please, but
don't let it be so public, please. I entreat you! Don't forget that
you're a schoolmaster."
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