Foma was silent, looking askance at his brisk neighbour, who at once pleased him and roused in him a desire to get as far as possible away from him. During recess he learned from Yozhov that Smolin, too, was rich, being the son of a tan-yard proprietor, and that Yozhov himself was the son of a guard at the Court of Exchequer, and very poor. The last was clearly evident by the adroit boy’s costume, made of gray fustian and adorned with patches on the knees and elbows; by his pale, hungry-looking face; and, by his small, angular and bony figure. This boy spoke in a metallic alto, elucidating his words with grimaces and gesticulations, and he often used words whose meaning was known but to himself. “We’ll be friends,” he announced to Foma. “Why did you complain to the teacher about me?” Gordyeeff reminded Yozhov, looking at him suspiciously. “There! What’s the difference to you? You are a new scholar and rich. The teacher is not exacting with the rich. And I am a poor hanger-on; he doesn’t like me, because I am impudent and because I never bring him any presents. If I had been a bad pupil he would have expelled me long ago. You know I’ll go to the Gymnasium from here. I’ll pass the second class and then I’ll leave. Already a student is preparing me for the second class. There I’ll study so that they can’t hold me back! How many horses do you have?” “Three. What do you need to study so much for?” asked Foma. “Because I am poor. The poor must study hard so that they may become rich. They become doctors, functionaries, officers. I shall be a ‘tinkler.’ A sword at my side, spur on my boots. Cling, cling! And what are you going to be?” “I don’t know,” said Foma, pensively, examining his companion. “You need not be anything. And are you fond of pigeons?” “Yes.” “What a good-for-nothing you are! Oh! Eh!” Yozhov imitated Foma’s slow way of speaking. “How many pigeons do you have?” “I have none.” “Eh, you! Rich, and yet you have no pigeons. Even I have three. If my father had been rich I would have had a hundred pigeons and chased them all day long. Smolin has pigeons, too, fine ones! Fourteen. He made me a present of one. Only, he is greedy. All the rich are greedy. And you, are you greedy, too?” “I don’t know,” said Foma, irresolutely. “Come up to Smolin’s and the three of us together will chase the pigeons.” “Very well. If they let me.” “Why, does not your father like you?” “He does like me.” “Well, then, he’ll let you go. Only don’t tell him that I am coming. Perhaps he would not let you go with me. Tell him you want to go to Smolin’s. Smolin!” A plump boy came up to them, and Yozhov accosted him, shaking his head reproachfully: “Eh, you red-headed slanderer! It isn’t worth while to be friends with you, blockhead!” “Why do you abuse me?” asked Smolin, calmly, examining Foma fixedly.