"Great Modeira!" shouted Velenchúk, louder than the rest, and bursting out laughing. "That's what I call Modeira!"
"Well, and did you tell them about the Esiatics?" Maksímov continued his inquiry, when the general laughter had subsided.
Chíkin bent down toward the fire, got a coal out with a stick, put it in his pipe, and for a long while puffed in silence his tobacco roots, as though unconscious of the silent curiosity of his hearers. When he finally had puffed up sufficient smoke, he threw away the coal, poised his cap farther back on his head, and, shrugging his shoulder and lightly smiling, he continued. "'What kind of a man is your small Circassian down there?' says one. 'Or is it the Turk you are fighting in the Caucasus?' Says I: 'Dear man, there is not one kind of Circassians down there, but many different Circassians there are. There are some mountaineers who live in stone mountains, and who eat stone instead of bread. They are big,' says I, 'a big log in size; they have one eye in the middle of the forehead,' and they wear red caps that glow like yours, dear man!" he added, addressing a young recruit, who, in fact, wore a funny little cap with a red crown.
At this unexpected turn, the recruit suddenly sat down on the ground, slapped his knees, and burst out laughing and coughing so hard that he could hardly pronounce with a choking voice, "Those are fine mountaineers!"
"'Then there are the Boobies,'" continued Chíkin, with a jerk of his head drawing his cap back on his forehead, "'these are twins, wee little twins, about this size. They always run in pairs, holding each other's hands,' says I, 'and they run so fast that you can't catch them on horseback.' 'Are those Boobies,' says one, 'born with clasped hands, my dear fellow?'" Chíkin spoke in a guttural
