She was filled with pride. Her son stood among the old, respected
workingmen; all listened to him and agreed with him! She was
pleased that he was so calm and talked so simply; not angrily, not
swearing, like the others. Broken exclamations, wrathful words and
oaths descended like hail on iron. Pavel looked down on the people
from his elevation, and with wide-open eyes seemed to be seeking
something among them.
"Delegates!"
"Let Sizov speak!"
"Vlasov!"
"Rybin! He has a terrible tongue!"
Finally Sizov, Rybin, and Pavel were chosen for the interview with
the manager. When just about to send for the manager, suddenly low
exclamations were heard in the crowd:
"Here he comes himself!"
"The manager?"
"Ah!"
The crowd opened to make way for a tall, spare man with a pointed
beard, an elongated face and blinking eyes.
"Permit me," he said, as he pushed the people aside with a short
motion of his hand, without touching them. With the experienced
look of a ruler of people, he scanned the workingmen's faces with a
searching gaze. They took their hats off and bowed to him. He
walked past them without acknowledging their greetings. His
presence silenced and confused the crowd, and evoked embarrassed
smiles and low exclamations, as of repentant children who had
already come to regret their prank.
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