sition, but before they
gave me a railway-line I was for years in harness; I have been a
practical mechanic. For two years I worked in Belgium as an oiler.
You can judge for yourself, my dear fellow, what kind of work can
I offer you?"

"Of course that is so . . ." I muttered in extreme confusion, unable
to face his clear, guileless eyes.

"Can you work the telegraph, any way?" he asked, after a moment's
thought.

"Yes, I have been a telegraph clerk."

"Hm! Well, we will see then. Meanwhile, go to Dubetchnya. I have
got a fellow there, but he is a wretched creature."

"And what will my duties consist of?" I asked.

"We shall see. Go there; meanwhile I will make arrangements. Only
please don't get drunk, and don't worry me with requests of any
sort, or I shall send you packing."

He turned away from me without even a nod.

I bowed to him and his daughter who was reading a newspaper, and
went away. My heart felt so heavy, that when my sister began asking
me how the engineer had received me, I could not utter a single
word.

I got up early in the morning, at sunrise, to go to Dubetchnya.
There was not a soul in our Great Dvoryansky Street; everyone was
asleep, and my footsteps rang out with a solitary, hollow sound.
The poplars, covered with dew, filled the air with soft fragrance.
I was sad, and did not want to go away from the town. I was fond
of my native town. It seemed to be so beautiful and so snug! I loved
the fresh greenery, the still, sunny morning, the chiming of our
bells; but the people with whom I lived in this town were boring,
alien to me, sometimes even repulsive. I did not like them nor
understand them.

I did not understand what these sixty-five thousand people lived
for and by. I knew that Kimry lived by boots, that Tula made samovars
and guns, that Odessa was a sea-port, but what our town was, and
what it did, I did not know. Great Dvoryansky Street and the two
other smartest streets lived on the interest of capital, or on
salaries received by officials from the public treasury; but what
the other eight streets, which ran parallel for over two miles and
vanished beyond the hills, lived upon, was always an insoluble
riddle to me. And the way those people lived one is ashamed to
describe! No garden, no theatre, no decent band; the public library
and the club library were only visited by Jewish youths, so that
the magazines and new books lay for months uncut; rich and well-educated
people s