Everybody seemed to be seeking something hard and firm to stand upon.
The older brother of Bukin, a tall, red-faced fellow, waved his
hands and turned about rapidly in all directions.
"The district elder Klepanov has no place in this case," he declared aloud.
"Keep still, Konstantin!" his father, a little old man, tried to
dissuade him, and looked around cautiously.
"No; I'm going to speak out! There's a rumor afloat about him that
last year he killed a clerk of his on account of the clerk's wife.
What kind of a judge is he? permit me to ask. He lives with the
wife of his clerk--what have you got to say to that? Besides, he's
a well-known thief!"
"Oh, my little father--Konstantin!"
"True!" said Samoylov. "True, the court is not a very just one."
Bukin heard his voice and quickly walked up to him, drawing the whole
crowd after him. Red with excitement, he waved his hands and said:
"For thievery, for murder, jurymen do the trying. They're common
people, peasants, merchants, if you please; but for going against
the authorities you're tried by the authorities. How's that?"
"Konstantin! Why are they against the authorities? Ah, you! They----"
"No, wait! Fedor Mazin said the truth.
Pages:
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561