“That takes care of your group, Zhenya dear,” he whispered with a malicious giggle. “You’re sinking fast!” Zhenya shook his fist at Pill.

“Varvara Stepanovna!” Goga whined. “Bogorad just shook his fist at me.”

“Sit still and don’t tattle,” Varvara Stepanovna said and turned back to Volka, who stood before her more dead than alive. “Were you serious about the elephants and the turtle?” “More serious than ever before, O most respected of all teachers,” Volka repeated after the old man and felt himself burning up with shame.

“And haven’t you anything else to add? Do you really think you were answering the question?”

“No, I’ve nothing to add,” Hottabych said behind the wall, shaking his head.

And Volka, helpless to withstand the force that was pushing him towards failure, also shook his head and said, “No, I’ve nothing to add. Perhaps, however, the fact that in the wealthy land of India the horizons are framed by gold and pearls.”

“It’s incredible!” his teacher exclaimed.

It was difficult to believe that Kostylkov, a usually disciplined boy, had suddenly decided to play a silly joke on his teachers (and at such an important time!), running the risk of a second examination in the autumn.

“I don’t think the boy is quite well,” Varvara Stepanovna whispered to the principal.

Glancing hurriedly and sympathetically at Volka, who stood numb with grief before them, the committee held a whispered conference.

Varvara Stepanovna suggested, “What if we ask the child another question, just to calm him? Say, from last year’s book. Last year he got an ‘A’ in geography.”

The others agreed, and Varvara Stepanovna once again turned to the unhappy boy.

“Now, Kostylkov, wipe your tears and don’t be nervous. Tell us what a horizon is.”