"The water is not necessary," and the Captain shook his head.
"But we must try to revive him," said the old ragcollector.
"Nothing is needed," said the Captain, decidedly.
They sat silently looking at the teacher.
"Let us go and drink, old devil!"
"But he?"
"Can you do him any good?"
Tyapa turned his back on the teacher, and both went out into the
courtyard to their companions.
"What is it?" asked Abyedok, turning his sharp nose to the old
man. The snoring of those who were asleep, and the tinkling
sound of pouring vodki was heard. . . The Deacon was murmuring
something. The clouds swam low, so low that it seemed as if they
would touch the roof of the house and knock it over on the group
of men.
"Ah! One feels sad when someone near at hand is dying," faltered
the Captain, with his head down. No one answered him.
"He was the best among you . . . the cleverest, the most
respectable. . . I mourn for him."
"Re-s-t with the Saints. . . Sing, you crooked hunchback!"
roared the Deacon, digging his friend in the ribs.
"Be quiet!" shouted Abyedok, jumping vengefully to his feet.
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