though he should cry if he succeeded in saying it. He cracked his whip moodily, and the lash curled itself round the handle like a flag round its flagstaff when the fête is over. His swearing was such that the horses could make nothing of it, and stopped continually, both at the ale-house, the blacksmith’s, the fruit stall, and the tobacconist’s.
When Malka came with dinner on the following day, Poldik scrutinized her while she was still in the distance to see whether she was crying. She was not crying, and consequently when she approached Poldik smiled faintly. He was hungry, and when he had half finished his dinner, he said, “Malka, you are a capital cook.” On this even Malka smiled faintly, and Poldik gave his horses their oats. That afternoon you might have heard Poldik’s “hee!” from one end of the street to the other, and he swore more in jest than in earnest, so that the horses were puzzled to know what it all meant. Even his own pace was fresher than usual, so that he overtook his vehicle and found himself walking by the shafts, after which he halted, and with a self-conscious smirk, awaited until the cart again overtook him.
And now Malka was no longer in tears when she brought the dinner, but still Poldik always turned his eyes to meet her, and to see how she looked. Malka was sometimes already smiling in the distance, and after this it appeared to Poldik that only one person in the world could cook so well, and that his dinner tasted excellent. He did not say so, indeed, in so many words, but his looks expressed as much. When he replaced the first plate in her basket he smiled, and also smiled after the second course, and concluded with the words, “You are a capital cook, Malka.” Malka smiled too, but with modest downcast eyes; when she departed Poldik gave her his hand, and was long enough in saying good-bye. For once in their lives his horses got plenty of oats.
All that afternoon this incident left traces of irregularity in his gait and action, which were apparent to every one even at a distance. His face looked as if he were still all the time munching his dinner, and praising Malka for her cooking. He kept saying “Cl! cl!” and even his “hee!” was frequently exchanged for these euphonious sounds. And when he cracked his whip it was with an air which plainly said, “How proud I am to be able to crack a whip.” He swore with a face that belied the oath and seemed to say, “I really scarce know why a fellow should swear after all.” And all the time his mind was occupied with Malka more than with anything else. She was for the present complete mistress of
