Semén took Mikháyla's advice and undertook to make a pair of boots that
would not wear down or rip.
The gentleman shouted at his lad, told him to pull off the boot from his
left foot, and stretched out his leg.
"Take the measure!"
Semén sewed together a piece of paper, ten inches in length, smoothed it
out, knelt down, carefully wiped his hand on his apron so as not to soil
the gentleman's stocking, and began to measure. He measured the sole,
then the instep, and then the calf, but there the paper was not long
enough. His leg at the calf was as thick as a log.
"Be sure and do not make them too tight in the boot-leg!"
Semén sewed up another piece to the strip. The gentleman sat and moved
his toes in his stocking, and watched the people in the room. He caught
sight of Mikháyla.
"Who is that man there?" he asked.
"That is my master workman,--he will make those boots."
"Remember," said the gentleman to Mikháyla, "remember! Make them so that
they will wear a year."
Semén, too, looked at Mikháyla, and he saw that Mikháyla was not looking
at the gentleman, but gazed at the corner, as though he saw some one
there. Mikháyla looked and looked, suddenly smiled and shone bright.
"What makes you show your teeth, fool? You had better be sure and get
the boots in time."
And Mikháyla said:
"They will be done in time."
"Exactly."
The gentleman put on his boot and his fur coat, and wrapped himself up,
and went to the door. He forgot to bow down, and hit his head against
the lintel.
The gentleman cursed awhile, and rubbed his head, and seated himself in
the carriage, and drove away.
When the gentleman was gone, Semén said:
"He is mighty flinty! You can't kill him with a club. He has knocked out
the lintel, but he himself took little harm."
And Matréna said:
"How can he help being smooth, with the life he leads? Even death will
not touch such a sledge-hammer!"