won't forget those blows; I'll score them against you, my dear sirs!
With Yegor there was another student, Titovich, who taught us political
economy--he was a very stern, tedious fellow--he was arrested."

The mother, drawing the boy to her, put his head on her bosom in order
to muffle his voice. It was not necessary, however, for he suddenly
grew heavy and silent. In awful fear, she looked about sidewise out of
the corners of her eyes. She felt that the policemen would issue from
some corner, would see Ivan's bandaged head, would seize him and kill
him.

"Been drinking?" asked the driver, turning on the box with a benignant
smile.

"Pretty full."

"Your son?"

"Yes, a shoemaker. I'm a cook."

Shaking the whip over the horse, the driver again turned, and continued
in a lowered voice:

"I heard there was a row in the cemetery just now. You see, they were
burying one of the politicals, one of those who are against the
authorities. They have a crow to pick with the authorities. He was
buried by fellows like him, his friends, it must be; and they up and
begin to shout: 'Down with the authorities! They ruin the people.'
The police began to beat them. It's said some were hewed down and
killed. But the police got it, too." He was silent, shaking his head
as if afflicted by some sorrow, and uttered in a strange voice: "They
don't even let the dead alone; they even bother people in their graves."

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."

CHA