Chapter III. The Schoolboy

But Kolya did not hear her. At last he could go out. As he went out at the
gate he looked round him, shrugged up his shoulders, and saying "It is
freezing," went straight along the street and turned off to the right
towards the market-place. When he reached the last house but one before
the market-place he stopped at the gate, pulled a whistle out of his
pocket, and whistled with all his might as though giving a signal. He had
not to wait more than a minute before a rosy-cheeked boy of about eleven,
wearing a warm, neat and even stylish coat, darted out to meet him. This
was Smurov, a boy in the preparatory class (two classes below Kolya
Krassotkin), son of a well-to-do official. Apparently he was forbidden by
his parents to associate with Krassotkin, who was well known to be a
desperately naughty boy, so Smurov was obviously slipping out on the sly.
He was--if the reader has not forgotten--one of the group of boys who two
months before had thrown stones at Ilusha. He was the one who told Alyosha
Karamazov about Ilusha.

"I've been waiting for you for the last hour, Krassotkin," said Smurov
stolidly, and the boys strode towards the market-place.

"I am late," answered Krassotkin. "I was detained by circumstances. You
won't be thrashed for coming with me?"

"Come, I say, I'm never thrashed! And you've got Perezvon with you?"

"Yes."

"You're taking him, too?"

"Yes."

"Ah! if it were only Zhutchka!"

"That's impossible. Zhutchka's non-existent. Zhutchka is lost in the mists
of obscurity."

"Ah! couldn't we do this?" Smurov suddenly stood still. "You see Ilusha
says that Zhutchka was a shaggy, grayish, smoky-looking dog like Perezvon.
Couldn't you tell him this is Zhutchka, and he might believe you?"

"Boy, shun a lie, that's one thing; even with a good object--that's
another. Above all, I hope you've not told them anything about my coming."

"Heaven forbid! I know what I am about. But you won't comfort him with
Perezvon," said Smurov, with a sigh. "You know his father, the captain,
'the wisp of tow,' told us that he was going to bring him a real mastiff
pup, with a black nose, to-day. He thinks that would comfort Ilusha; but I
doubt it."

"And how is Ilusha?"

"Ah, he is bad, very bad! I believe he's in consumption: he is quite
conscious, but his breathing! His breathing's gone wrong. The other day he
asked to have his boots on to be led round the room. He tried to walk, b