cigarettes. The
Russian peasant smokes his cigarette now. It is the first step, and it
does not cost him much. It is the dawn of progress--the thin end of the
wedge which will broaden out into anarchy. The poor man who smokes a
cigarette is sure to pass on to socialistic opinions and troubles in the
market-place. Witness the cigarette-smoking countries. Moreover, this
same poor man is not a pleasant companion. He smokes a poor cigarette.

There is also the smell of vodka, which bottled curse is standing in
tumblers all down the long table. The news has spread in Osterno that
vodka is to be had for the asking at the kabak, where there is a
meeting. Needless to say, the meeting is a large one. Foolishness and
thirst are often found in the same head--a cranium which, by the way, is
exceptionally liable to be turned by knowledge or drink.

If the drink at the kabak of Osterno was dangerous, the knowledge was no
less so.

"I tell you, little fathers," an orator was shouting, "that the day of
the capitalist has gone. The rich men--the princes, the nobles, the
great merchants, the monopolists, the tchinovniks--tremble. They know
that the poor man is awakening at last from his long lethargy. What have
we done in Germany? What have we done in America? What have we done in
England and France?"

Whereupon he banged an unwashed fist upon the table with such emphasis
that more than one of the audience clutched his glass of vodka in alarm,
lest a drop of the precious liquor should be wasted.

No one seemed to know what had been done in Germany, in America, in
England, or in France. The people's orator is a man of many questions
and much fist-banging. The moujiks of Osterno gazed at him beneath their
shaggy brows. Half of them did not understand him. They were as yet
uneducated to a comprehension of the street orator's periods. A few of
the more intelligent waited for him to answer his own questions, which
he failed to do. A vague and ominous question carries as much weight
with some people as a statement, and has the signal advantage of being
less incriminating.

The speaker--a neckless, broad-shouldered ruffian of the type known in
England as "unemployed"--looked round with triumphant head well thrown
back. From his attitude it was obvious that he had been the salvation of
the countries named, and had now come to Russia to do the same for her.
He spoke with the throaty accent of the Pole. It was quite evident that
his speech