. . "On the r-i-v-e-r-s--" The Deacon's voice was loud
and hoarse and cracked, but his friend sang in a shrill falsetto.
The dirty building loomed large in the darkness and seemed to be
coming nearer, threatening the singers, who were arousing its
dull echoes. The heavy, pompous clouds were floating in the sky
over their heads. One of the "creatures that once were men" was
snoring; the rest, not yet so drunk, ate and drank quietly or
spoke to each other at long intervals. It was unusual for
them to be in such low spirits during such a feast, with so much
vodki. Somehow the drink tonight did not seem to have its usual
exhilarating effect.
"Stop howling, you dogs!" . . . said the Captain to the singers,
raising his head from the ground to listen. "Some one is passing
. . . in a droshky. . . ."
A droshky at such a time in the main street could not but attract
general attention. Who would risk crossing the ditches between
it and the town, and why? They all raised their heads and
listened. In the silence of the night the wheels were distinctly
heard. They came gradually nearer. A voice was heard asking
roughly:
"Well, where then?"
Someone answered, "It must be there, that house.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122