For two years, the peasant Yegor Ivanovich saved up money for a horse. He ate poorly, quit smoking shag, "and as for moonshine, I forgot what taste is in it." Of course, I wanted to recall, but he really needed a horse.
In the third year he counted his capitals, decided that there was enough for a horse, and began to gather in the city. Just before he left, a man came to him from a neighboring village to sell his horse, but Yegor Ivanovich refused - he’d better buy in the city, “for real.”
At the bazaar, Yegor Ivanovich immediately chose his horse. Haggling slowly, thoroughly and with considerable pleasure. He examined her for a long time, blew into her eyes and ears, and so frightened the unflappable nag that she began to kick quietly.
Finally, the merchant named the final price. Egor Ivanovich tried to knock her down, finding fault with the strange color of the horse, but was overwhelmed by the merchant’s argument - “what do you want to plow with color?”
Having hit his hat with the hat on the ground, Yegor Ivanovich took the money from his boot, gave it to the merchant and watched with agony as the strangled crooked fingers unfurled the banknotes with such difficulty.
Egor Ivanovich led the horse along the street, slyly squinting and winking at passers-by, but they indifferently passed by without even glancing at the purchase. The peasant desperately wanted to meet at least some fellow countryman in order to brag plenty. Then he saw a friend from a distant village and offered to wash the acquisition.The acquaintance did not refuse the treats, and both went to the tavern.
That was Monday. And on Wednesday morning, Yegor Ivanovich returned to the village. There was no horse with him.
An acquaintance walked beside him and consoled: “Well, I drank it - that thing ... But then, brother, I jumped out. There is something to remember. ” Yegor Ivanovich was silent, only near the village he quietly said that for two years he had "been breaking straw" in vain.
Angrily waving his hand, a friend turned to leave. Shouting in a “terrible voice,” Yegor Ivanovich stopped him and in desperation asked: “How is this? For two years, after all, straw was wasted in vain ... For what kind of thing ... are they selling wine? ” The acquaintance waved his hand again, did not answer, and went into the city.
