“Go to the devil,” Salakin curtly advised his friend.

“Shut up! I’m telling the truth: What’s to be done now? Starve…”

“Go, marry a merchant’s widow, and your belly will be full.…Milk-sop!”

“You pock-marked mug! You stitched nose!…”

It wasn’t the first time that they used such language to each other.

During the day, half-naked, blue with cold, they roamed the streets, but very rarely succeeded in earning something. They hired themselves out to split wood, to chop away the dirty ice in court-yards, and receiving twenty kopecks a-piece, they immediately spent the money on food. Sometimes on the market-place a lady would hand Vanyushka her basket, heavily laden with meat and vegetables, and pay him five kopecks to trail after her through the market for an hour carrying it for her. On such occasions Vanyushka, so hungry he had cramps, always felt that he hated the lady, but fearing to show this feeling, he made a pretense of being deferential towards her and indifferent to the things in her basket that were rousing his hunger.

Sometimes Vanyushka begged alms, trying to keep out of sight of the police, while Salakin knew how to steal a piece of meat, a slab of butter, a head of cabbage, a weight from scales. On such occasions Vanyushka would tremble with fear and say to his comrade:

“You’ll ruin me! They’ll clap us into jail.…”

“In jail we’ll be fed and clothed,” Salakin would retort, reasonably enough. “Is it my fault that it is easier to steal than to find work?”

That day they were just able to scrape together six kopecks for the doss-house; Salakin had stolen a French bread and a small bunch of carrots, and they had nothing more to eat that day. Hunger was consuming their vitals, and, preventing sleep, exasperated them.

“How much did I spend on you?” Salakin asked Vanyushka reproachfully. “All you had to your name was an ax and a kaftan.…”

“And what about the six ten-kopeck pieces? You’ve forgotten!”

They growled at each other like two vicious dogs, and more than once Vanyushka gave Salakin a shove as though by accident. But he did not wish to quarrel with his comrade openly: during these days he had grown used to him, and he knew that without Salakin he would have an even harder time.

It was frightful to live alone in the city. And he was ashamed to return to the village ragged and half- naked, ashamed before his mother, and before the girls, before all. Besides, Salakin jeered at him every time Vanyushka spoke of returning to the village.

“Go, go!” he would say, baring his teeth. “Make your mother happy: ‘I’ve earned a pile, I’m dressed like a gentleman!’ ”

Moreover, Vanyushka was kept in the city by a vague hope that his luck would turn. Sometimes he thought that a rich man would take pity on him and hire him as a handy man, or else he imagined that Salakin would find some way out of this painful, hungry life. Faith in his comrade’s cleverness was supported by Salakin himself, who would often say:

“Don’t worry. We’ll get along. Just you wait, we’ll make our way yet.…”