. . It's not a long job ours, a little drink and
then . . ."
The others began to wake up, and Simtsoff shouted in a blissful
voice: "Brothers! One of you pour out a glass for the old man!"
They poured out a glass and gave it to him. Having drunk it he
tumbled down again, knocking against another man as he fell. Two
or three minutes' silence ensued, dark as the autumn night.
"What do you say?"
"I say that he was a good man . . . a quiet and good man,"
whispered a low voice.
"Yes, and he had money, too . . . and he never refused it to a
friend . . ." Again silence ensued.
"He is dying!" said Tyapa, hoarsely, from behind the Captain's
head. Aristid Fomich got up, and went with firm steps into the
dosshouse.
"Don't go!" Tyapa stopped him. "Don't go! You are drunk! It
is not right." The Captain stopped and thought.
"And what is right on this earth? Go to the Devil!" And he
pushed Tyapa aside.
On the walls of the dosshouse the shadows were creeping, seeming
to chase each other. The teacher lay on the board at full length
and snored. His eyes were wide open, his naked breast rose and
fell heavily, the corners of his mouth foamed, and on his face
was an expression as if he wished to say something very
important, but found it difficult to do so.
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