smoked fish, ham, caviar, and everything, everything they’ve got, up to a hundred roubles, or a hundred and twenty as before. … But wait: don’t let them forget dessert, sweets, pears, watermelons, two or three or four—no, one melon’s enough, and chocolate, candy, toffee, fondants; in fact, everything I took to Mokroe before, three hundred roubles’ worth with the champagne … let it be just the same again. And remember, Misha, if you are called Misha—His name is Misha, isn’t it?” He turned to Pyotr Ilyitch again.
“Wait a minute,” Protr Ilyitch intervened, listening and watching him uneasily, “you’d better go yourself and tell them. He’ll muddle it.”
“He will, I see he will! Eh, Misha! Why, I was going to kiss you for the commission. … If you don’t make a mistake, there’s ten roubles for you, run along, make haste. … Champagne’s the chief thing, let them bring up champagne. And brandy, too, and red and white wine, and all I had then. … They know what I had then.”
“But listen!” Pyotr Ilyitch interrupted with some impatience. “I say, let him simply run and change the money and tell them not to close, and you go and tell them. … Give him your note. Be off, Misha! Put your best leg forward!”
Pyotr Ilyitch seemed to hurry Misha off on purpose, because the boy remained standing with his mouth and eyes wide open, apparently understanding little of Mitya’s orders, gazing up with amazement and terror at his bloodstained face and the trembling bloodstained fingers that held the notes.
“Well, now come and wash,” said Pyotr Ilyitch sternly. “Put the money on the table or else in your pocket. …