I'm in a hurry. The tavern at Novokamensk will soon be closed so that no one can get in. But I don't know what you want to talk about; I don't know you. Well?"
"About whom were you singing that pretty song?"
"Thank you for praising it! I was singing about the miller that lives in this mill, but whether the song was pretty or not is my own affair, because I was singing it to myself. Perhaps some people would fly when they heard the song, perhaps some would cry. Gee, gee, gee-up! What! Are you still standing there?"
"I'm still standing here."
"What for?"
"You said in your song that the miller's vodka is good. Is that so?"
"Aha, now I see how sly you are! You begin quarrelling with a man's song before he has sung it to the end. That's the devil's own trick! You don't know the proverb, I see: don't go to hell before your father; if you do, you'll be sorry. If that's how you feel, I'd better sing my song to the end, so here goes:
Yes, the vodka in the inn
Is good as any sold;
Two parts of it are liquor,
One is water cold.
"Get out of the way, then! What are you standing there for? What do you want now? Wait a
