Chekhov was then Antosh Chekhonte, and the author-narrator was a little schoolboy.
In the summer the boy with his friend Zhenya disappears in the Neskuchny garden. They built wigwams, played Indians. Then they moved to the Eskimos, engaged in fishing in the Meshchansky Garden in the ponds (at the Meshchansky School).
Karasay was very much, they were caught well. Zhenka took a Latin dictionary to the second-hand bookshop and bought a “porcupine feather” – for the carp. And the bait made a special.
The extraction of their boys was dried, ground into powder and made from it Eskimo food – pemmikan.
Once, a school tutor came to the well-fed place and some kind of shaggy stranger in a tzuchukovo jacket – you can immediately see: the master of fishing. Very young, simple face, antennae, pleasant basque. He drags the carp, one more than the other.
Zhenya is angry: they have fed him and a friend, but others use them, and they took the best place.
The boys sat down under the willows, the line was tangled in the branches, and the “porcupine feather” too. The stranger invited them to settle down next to him – there is enough room for everyone.
We talked. The stranger showed great knowledge of the Indian life, he knew about the pemmikan, and he smoked with the boys: “From now on my fishing line is your fishing line, your bait is my bait, my crucian carp is your carp”, and gave the boys their carp.
And Zhenya, right in his trousers and shirt, taking off only his boots, rushed into the water with a knife in his teeth and cut off that branch where the “porcupine feather” was entangled. This value was given to a stranger. He pressed the pen to his heart and put it in his pocket.
And then came Sasha Verevkin, whose father was a school inspector, and told that this stranger wrote in newspapers, and signed for laughter – Antosh Chehonte.
“We did not understand much, but our heart was saying something to us.” They did not understand that our “pale-faced brother” was truly our brother in a poor and uncomfortable life and tried to fill it in. I now recall one of his stories – “Montigomo Hawk Claw ” – it seems so?”