PIKE [beamingly unconscious of this, surprised, and in a tone of cheerful apology, believing all the world to be as good-natured and sensible as Kokomo would be under the circumstances].  Law!  I didn’t know there was folks here.  I reckon you’ll have to excuse me.

[As he speaks he dries his hands quickly.]

Here, son!

[He hands the towel to MICHELE.  PIKE rapidly descends the steps, goes to the breakfast-table, joining VASILI and taking the seat opposite him.]

VASILI [gayly].  You’re a true patriot, my friend.  You allow no profane hand to cook your national dish.  I trust you will be as successful with that wicked motor of mine.

PIKE [chuckling].  Lord bless your soul, I’ve put a self-binder together after a pony-engine had butted it half-way through a brick deepoe!

[Tucks his napkin in collar of his waistcoat and applies himself to the meal.]

[HORACE and HAWCASTLE read their papers, now and then casting glances of great annoyance at PIKE.]

[LADY CREECH lets her periodical rest in her lap, and without any abating or concealment, fixes PIKE with a basilisk glare which continues.  He is unconscious of all this, his back being three-quarters to their group.]

VASILI [no pause].  You have studied mechanics at the University?

PIKE [smiling].  University?  Law, no!  On the old man’s farm.

[VASILI nods gravely.]

HAWCASTLE [blandly, to HORACE].  Without any disrespect to you, my dear fellow, what terrific bounders most of your fellow-countrymen are!

HORACE [greatly irritated].  Do you wonder sis and I have emancipated ourselves?

HAWCASTLE.  Not at all, my dear lad.

VASILI [to PIKE].  Can I persuade you to accept a little of one of my own national dishes—­caviar?

PIKE.  Caviar?  I’ve heard of it.  I thought it was Rooshian.

VASILI [disturbed, but instantly recovering, himself].  It is German, also.  Will you not?

[He motions MARIANO to serve PIKE.  MARIANO places a spoonful of caviar on a silver dish at PIKE’S right.]

PIKE.  I expect I’d never get to the legislature again if the boys heard about it.  Still, I reckon I’m far enough from home to take a few risks.

[He loads a fork with caviar, and with a smile places it in his mouth.  The smile slowly fades, his face becomes thoughtful, then grave; he slowly sets the fork upon his plate, his eyes turn toward VASILI with a look both puzzled and plaintive, his mouth firmly closed, his jaw moving slightly.]

VASILI.  I fear you do not like it.  A few swallows of vodka will take away the taste.

[Gives him a glass, which PIKE accepts, drinking a mouthful in haste, VASILI watching him, sincerely concerned and troubled.  PIKE swallows the vodka, quietly sets the glass down on the table, his eyelids begin to flutter, he bends a look of suffering and distrust upon VASILI, slowly rises and closes his eyes, then slowly sits and opens them.  Gradually a faint, distrustful smile appears on his face.]