.

"Because I am poor. The poor must study hard so that they may become
rich. They become doctors, functionaries, officers. I shall be a
'tinkler.' A sword at my side, spur on my boots. Cling, cling! And what
are you going to be?"

"I don't know," said Foma, pensively, examining his companion.

"You need not be anything. And are you fond of pigeons?"

"Yes."

"What a good-for-nothing you are! Oh! Eh!" Yozhov imitated Foma's slow
way of speaking. "How many pigeons do you have?"

"I have none."

"Eh, you! Rich, and yet you have no pigeons. Even I have three. If my
father had been rich I would have had a hundred pigeons and chased them
all day long. Smolin has pigeons, too, fine ones! Fourteen. He made me
a present of one. Only, he is greedy. All the rich are greedy. And you,
are you greedy, too?"

"I don't know," said Foma, irresolutely.

"Come up to Smolin's and the three of us together will chase the
pigeons."

"Very well. If they let me."

"Why, does not your father like you?"

"He does like me."

"Well, then, he'll let you go. Only don't tell him that I am coming.
Perhaps he would not let you go with me. Tell him you want to go to
Smolin's. Smolin!"

A plump boy came up to them, and Yozhov accosted him, shaking his head
reproachfully:

"Eh, you red-headed slanderer! It isn't worth while to be friends with
you, blockhead!"

"Why do you abuse me?" asked Smolin, calmly, examining Foma fixedly.

"I am not abusing you; I am telling the truth," Yozhov explained,
straightening himself with animation. "Listen! Although you are a
kissel, but--let it go! We'll come up to see you on Sunday after mass."

"Come," Smolin nodded his head.

"We'll come up. They'll ring the bell soon. I must run to sell the
siskin," declared Yozhov, pulling out of his pocket a paper package,
wherein some live thing was struggling. And he disappeared from the
school-yard as mercury from the palm of a hand.

"What a queer fellow he is!" said Foma, dumfounded by Yozhov's
adroitness and looking at Smolin interrogatively.

"He is always like this. He's very clever," the red-headed boy
explained.

"And cheerful, too," added Foma.

"Cheerful, too," Smolin assented. Then they became silent, looking at
each other.

"Will you come up with him to my house?" asked the red-headed boy.

"Yes."

"Come up. It's nice there."

Foma said nothing to this. Then Smolin asked him:

"Have you many friends?"

"I have none."

"Neithe