Do you know how to get around, Pussy? "
"Comrade Bender," Vorobyaninov kept saying, "what about the chairs?
We've got to find out what happened to the theatre."
"Hoho," retorted Ostap, dancing with a chair in a large Moorish-style room in the Hotel Orient. "Don't tell me how to live.
I'm now evil.
I have money, but I'm magnanimous.
I'll give you twenty roubles and three days to loot the city.
I'm like Suvorov. . . .
Loot the city, Pussy!
Enjoy yourself!"
And swaying his hips, Ostap sang in quick time:
"The evening bells, the evening bells, How many thoughts they bring. . . ."
The friends caroused wildly for a whole week.
Vorobyaninov's naval uniform became covered with apple-sized wine spots of different colours; on Ostap's suit the stains suffused into one large rainbow-like apple.
"Hi!" said Ostap on the eighth morning, so hung-over that he was reading the newspaper Dawn of the East. "Listen, you drunken sot, to what clever people are writing in the press!
Listen!
THEATRE NEWS
The Moscow Columbus Theatre left yesterday, Sept. 3, for a tour of Yalta, having completed its stay in Tiflis.
The theatre is planning to remain in the Crimea until the opening of the winter season in Moscow.'"
"What did I tell you!" said Vorobyaninov.
"What did you tell me!" snapped back Ostap.
He was nevertheless embarrassed.
The careless mistake was very unpleasant.
Instead of ending the treasure hunt in Tiflis, they now had to move on to the Crimean peninsula.
Ostap immediately set to work.
Tickets were bought to Batumi and second-class-berths reserved on the S.S. Pestel leaving Batumi for Odessa at 11 p.m. Moscow time on September 7.
On the night of September 10, as the Pestel turned out to sea and set sail for Yalta without calling at Anapa on account of the gale, Ippolit Matveyevich had a dream.
He dreamed he was standing in his admiral's uniform on the balcony of his house in Stargorod, while the crowd gathered below waited for him to do something.
A large crane deposited a black-spotted pig at his feet.
Tikhon the caretaker appeared and, grabbing the pig by the hind legs, said:
"Durn it. Does the Nymph really provide tassels?"
Ippolit Matveyevich found a dagger in his hand.
He stuck it into the pig's side, and jewels came pouring out of the large wound and rolled on to the cement floor.
They jumped about and clattered more and more loudly.
The noise finally became unbearable and terrifying,
Ippolit Matveyevich was wakened by the sound of waves dashing against the porthole.
They reached Yalta in calm weather on an enervating sunny morning.
Having recovered from his seasickness, the marshal was standing at the prow near the ship's bell with its embossed Old Slavonic lettering.
Gay Yalta had lined up its tiny stalls and floating restaurants along the shore.
On the quayside there were waiting carriages with velvet-covered seats and linen awnings, motor-cars and buses belonging to the
"Krymkurso" and
"Crimean Driver" societies.
Brick-coloured girls twirled parasols and waved kerchiefs.
The friends were the first to go ashore, on to the scorching embankment.
At the sight of the concessionaires, a citizen in a tussore-silk suit dived out of the crowd of people meeting the ship and idle onlookers and began walking quickly towards the exit to the dockyard.
But too late.
The smooth operator's eagle eye had quickly recognized the silken citizen.
"Wait a moment, Vorobyaninov," cried Ostap.
And he raced off at such a pace that he caught up the silken citizen about ten feet from the exit.
He returned instantly with a hundred roubles.