She led out a herd of girls in sarafans.
The concert ended with some Russian folk dances.
While the Scriabin made preparations to continue its voyage, while the captain talked with the engine-room through the speaking-tube, and the boilers blazed, heating the water, the brass band went ashore again and, to everyone's delight, began playing dances.
Picturesque groups of dancers formed, full of movement.
The setting sun sent down a soft, apricot light.
It was an ideal moment for some newsreel shots.
And, indeed, Polkan the cameraman emerged yawning from his cabin.
Vorobyaninov, who had grown used to his part as general office boy, followed him, cautiously carrying the camera.
Polkan approached the side and glared at the bank.
A soldier's polka was being danced on the grass.
The boys were stamping their feet as though they wanted to split the planet.
The girls sailed around.
Onlookers crowded the terraces and slopes.
An avant-garde French cameraman would have found enough material here to keep him busy for three days.
Polkan, however, having run his piggy eyes along the bank, immediately turned around, ambled to the committee chairman, stood him against a white wall, pushed a book into his hand, and, asking him not to move, smoothly turned the handle of his cine-camera for some minutes.
He then led the bashful chairman aft and took him against the setting sun.
Having completed his shots, Polkan retired pompously to his cabin and locked himself in.
Once more the hooter sounded and once more the sun hid in terror.
The second night fell and the steamer was ready to leave.
Ostap thought with trepidation of the coming morning.
Ahead of him was the job of making a cardboard figure of a sower sowing bonds.
This artistic ordeal was too much for the smooth operator.
He had managed to cope with the lettering, but he had no resources left for painting a sower.
"Keep it in mind," warned the fat man, "from Vasyuki onward we are holding evening lotteries, so we can't do without the transparent."
"Don't worry at all," said Ostap, basing his hopes on that evening, rather than the next day. "You'll have the transparent."
It was a starry, windy night.
The animals in the lottery arc were lulled to sleep.
The lions from the lottery committee were asleep.
So were the lambs from personnel, the goats from accounts, the rabbits from mutual settlement, the hyenas and jackals from sound effects, and the pigeons from the typistry.
Only the shady couple lay awake.
The smooth operator emerged from his cabin after midnight.
He was followed by the noiseless shadow of the faithful Pussy.
They went up on deck and silently approached the chair, covered with plyboard sheets.
Carefully removing the covering, Ostap stood the chair upright and, tightening his jaw, ripped open the upholstery with a pair of pliers and inserted his hand.
"Got it!" said Ostap in a hushed voice.
Letter from Theodore
written at the Good-Value Furnished Rooms in Baku to his wife In the regional centre of N.
My dear and precious Kate,
Every hour brings us nearer our happiness.
I am writing to you from the Good-Value Furnished Rooms, having finished all my business.
The city of Baku is very large.
They say kerosene is extracted here, but you still have to go by electric train and I haven't any money.
This picturesque city is washed by the Caspian.
It really is very large in size.
The heat here is awful.
I carry my coat in one hand and my jacket in the other, and it's still too hot.
My hands sweat.
I keep indulging in tea, and I've practically no money.
But no harm, my dear, we'll soon have plenty.
We'll travel everywhere and settle properly in Samara, near our factory, and we'll have liqueurs to drink.