"
The cab rattled over the stones. Ivan's head jostled softly against
the mother's bosom. The driver, sitting half-turned from his horse,
mumbled thoughtfully:
"The people are beginning to boil. Every now and then some disorder
crops out. Yes! Last night the gendarmes came to our neighbors,
and kept up an ado till morning, and in the morning they led away
a blacksmith. It's said they'll take him to the river at night and
drown him. And the blacksmith--well--he was a wise man--he understood
a great deal--and to understand, it seems, is forbidden. He used
to come to us and say: 'What sort of life is the cabman's life?'
'It's true,' we say, 'the life of a cabman is worse than a dog's.'"
"Stop!" the mother said.
Ivan awoke from the shock of the sudden halt, and groaned softly.
"It shook him up!" remarked the driver. "Oh, whisky, whisky!"
Ivan shifted his feet about with difficulty. His whole body
swaying, he walked through the entrance, and said:
"Nothing--comrade, I can get along."
CHAPTER IX
Sofya was already at home when they reached the house. She met the
mother with a cigarette in her teeth. She was somewhat ruffled,
but, as usual, bold and assured of manner.
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