"They know; they will
tell you. It is not the first time that I tell them they are fools. I
tell them again now. They are fools and worse to listen to such windbags
as you."
"Who is it?" cried the paid agitator. "Who is this man?"
His eyes were red with anger and with vodka; his voice was unsteady. His
outstretched hand shook.
"It is the Moscow doctor," said a man beside him--"the Moscow doctor."
"Then I say he is no doctor!" shouted the orator. "He is a spy--a
Government spy, a tchinovnik! He has heard all we have said. He has seen
you all. Brothers, that man must not leave this room alive. If he does,
you are lost men!"
Some few of the more violent spirits rose and pressed tumultuously
toward the door. The agitator shouted and screamed, urging them on,
taking good care to remain in the safe background himself. Every man in
the room rose to his feet. They were full of vodka and fury and
ignorance. Spirit and tall talk, taken on an empty stomach, are
dangerous stimulants.
Paul stood with his back to the door and never moved.
"Sit down, fools!" he cried. "Sit down! Listen to me. You dare not touch
me; you know that."
It seemed that he was right, for they stopped with staring, stupid eyes
and idle hands.
"Will you listen to me, whom you have known for years, or to this talker
from the town? Choose now.
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