"
"Why, it's very simple--all this."
"And you'll see it'll all come out all right. No. You speak to
them. I have everything prepared already--the rope ladder, the
screw hooks; I spoke to my host, he'll be the lamplighter."
Somebody stirred noisily at the door and coughed, and iron clanked.
"There he is!" exclaimed Nikolay.
At the open door a tin bathtub was thrust in, and a hoarse voice said:
"Get in, you devil."
Then a round, gray, hatless head appeared. It had protruding eyes
and a mustache, and wore a good-natured expression. Nikolay helped
the man in with the tub. A tall, stooping figure strode through the
door. The man coughed, his shaven cheeks puffing up; he spat out
and greeted hoarsely:
"Good health to you!"
"There! Ask him!"
"Me? What about?"
"About the escape."
"Ah, ah!" said the host, wiping his mustache with black fingers.
"There, Yakob Vasilyevich! She doesn't believe it's a simple matter!"
"Hm! she doesn't believe! Not to believe means not to want to
believe. You and I want to, and so we believe." The old man
suddenly bent over and coughed hoarsely, rubbed his breast for a
long time, while he stood in the middle of the room panting for
breath and scanning the mother with wide-open eyes.
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