Why do you not go and tell him
that you are not going to starve and die while he eats caviare and
peaches from gold plates and dishes?"
A resounding bang of the fist finished this fine oration, and again the
questions were unanswered.
"They are all the same, these aristocrats," the man thundered on. "Your
prince is as the others, I make no doubt. Indeed, I know; for I have
been told by our good friend Abramitch here. A clever man our friend
Abramitch, and when you get your liberty--when you get your Mir--you
must keep him in mind. Your prince, then--this Howard Alexis--treats you
like the dirt beneath his feet. Is it not so? He will not listen to your
cry of hunger. He will not give you a few crumbs of food from his gold
dishes. He will not give you a few kopecks of the millions of rubles
that he possesses. And where did he get those rubles? Ah! where did he
get them--eh? Tell me that!"
Again the interrogative unwashed fist. As the orator's wild and frenzied
eye travelled round the room it lighted on a form near the door--a man
standing a head and shoulders above any one in the room, a man enveloped
in an old brown coat, with a woollen shawl round his throat, hiding half
his face.
"Who is that?" cried the orator, with an unsteady, pointing finger. "He
is no moujik. Is that a tchinovnik, little fathers? Has he come here to
our meeting to spy upon us?"
"You may ask them who I am," replied the giant.
Pages:
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362