The Brothers Karamazovready in the second cart, in which two constables were to
accompany Mavriky Mavrikyevitch. The peasant who had
been ordered to drive the second cart was pulling on his
smock, stoutly maintaining that it was not his turn to go,
but Akim’s. But Akim was not to be seen. They ran to look
for him. The peasant persisted and besought them to wait.
‘You see what our peasants are, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch.
They’ve no shame!’ exclaimed Trifon Borissovitch. ‘Akim
gave you twenty-five copecks the day before yesterday.
You’ve drunk it all and now you cry out. I’m simply sur-
prised at your good-nature, with our low peasants, Mavriky
Mavrikyevitch, that’s all I can say.’
‘But what do we want a second cart for?’ Mitya put in.
‘Let’s start with the one, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch. I won’t be
unruly, I won’t run away from you, old fellow. What do we
want an escort for?’
‘I’ll trouble you, sir, to learn how to speak to me if you’ve
never been taught. I’m not ‘old fellow’ to you, and you can
keep your advice for another time!’ Mavriky Mavrikyevitch
snapped out savagely, as though glad to vent his wrath.
Mitya was reduced to silence. He flushed all over. A mo-
ment later he felt suddenly very cold. The rain had ceased,
but the dull sky was still overcast with clouds, and a keen
wind was blowing straight in his face.
‘I’ve taken a chill,’ thought Mitya, twitching his shoul-
ders.
At last Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, too, got into the cart, sat
down heavily, and, as though without noticing it, squeezed
Mitya into the corner. It is true that he was out of humour