"Yes, and, later on, in the universe.
Chess thinking-which has turned a regional centre into the capital of the world-will become an applied science and will invent ways of interplanetary communication.
Signals will be sent from Vasyuki to Mars, Jupiter and Neptune.
Communications with Venus will be as easy as going from Rybinsk to Yaroslavl.
And then who knows what may happen? In maybe eight or so years the first interplanetary chess tournament in the history of the world will be held in Vasyuki."
Ostap wiped his noble brow.
He was so hungry he could have eaten a roasted knight from the chessboard.
"Ye-es," said the one-eyed man with a sigh, looking around the dusty room with an insane light in his eye, "but how are we to put the plan into effect, to lay the basis, so to say?"
They all looked at the Grossmelster tensely.
"As I say, in practice the plan depends entirely on your activity.
I will do all the organizing myself.
There will be no actual expense, except for the cost of the telegrams."
One-eyed nudged his companions.
"Well?" he asked, "what do you say?"
"Let's do it, let's do it!" cried the citizens.
"How much money is needed for the . . . er . . . telegrams?"
"A mere bagatelle. A hundred roubles."
"We only have twenty-one roubles in the cash box.
We realize, of course, that it is by no means enough . . ."
But the Grossmeister proved to be accommodating.
"All right," he said, "give me the twenty roubles."
"Will it be enough?" asked one-eye.
"It'll be enough for the initial telegrams.
Later on we can start collecting contributions. Then there'll be so much money we shan't know what to do with it."
Putting the money away in his green field jacket, the Grossmeister reminded the gathered citizens of his lecture and simultaneous match on one hundred and sixty boards, and, taking leave of them until evening, made his way to the Cardboard-worker Club to find Ippolit Matveyevich.
"I'm starving," said Vorobyaninov in a tremulous voice.
He was already sitting at the window of the box office, but had not collected one kopek; he could not even buy a hunk of bread.
In front of him lay a green wire basket intended for the money.
It was the kind that is used in middle-class houses to hold the cutlery.
"Listen, Vorobyaninov," said Ostap, "stop your cash transactions for an hour and come and eat at the caterers' union canteen.
I'll describe the situation as we go.
By the way, you need a shave and brush-up.
You look like a tramp.
A Grossmeister cannot have such suspicious-looking associates."
"I haven't sold a single ticket," Ippolit Matveyevich informed him.
"Don't worry.
People will come flocking in towards evening.
The town has already contributed twenty roubles for the organization of an international chess tournament."
"Then why bother about the simultaneous match?" whispered his manager. "You may lose the games anyway.
With twenty roubles we can now buy tickets for the ship-the Karl Liebknecht has just come in-travel quietly to Stalingrad and wait for the theatre to arrive.
We can probably open the chairs there.
Then we'll be rich and the world will belong to us."
"You shouldn't say such silly things on an empty stomach.
It has a bad effect on the brain.
We might reach Stalingrad on twenty roubles, but what are we going to eat with?
Vitamins, my dear comrade marshal, are not given away free.
On the other hand, we can get thirty roubles out of the locals for the lecture and match."
"They'll slaughter us!" said Vorobyaninov.
"It's a risk, certainly.
We may be manhandled a bit.