The “one” was the first in Volodya’s life! It made him feel rather
strange.
“Lovlev!” his comrades taunted him, laughing and nudging him, “you
caught it that time! Congratulations!”
Volodya felt awkward. He did not yet know how to behave in these
circumstances.
“What if I have,” he answered peevishly, “what business is it of
yours?”
“Lovlev!” the lazy Snegirev shouted, “our regiment has been
reinforced!”
His first “one”! And he had yet to tell his mother.
He felt ashamed and humiliated. He felt as though he bore in the
knapsack on his back a strangely heavy and awkward burden—the “one”
stuck clumsily in his consciousness and seemed to fit in with nothing
else in his mind.
“One”!
He could not get used to the thought about the “one,” and yet could not
think of anything else. When the policeman, who stood near the school,
looked at him with his habitual severity Volodya could not help
thinking: “What if you knew that I’ve received ‘one’!”
It was all so awkward and so unusual. Volodya did not know how to hold
his head and where to put his hands; there was uneasiness in his whole
bearing.
Besides, he had to assume a care-free look before his comrades and to
talk of something else!
His comrades! Volodya was convinced that they were all very glad
because of his “one.”