ed in the very
best of spirits with a yard-porter who was sitting at his table. Soon
he grew communicative and told his companion all about the conditions
of his life. He told him he came from the village Vassilievsky, twelve
miles from town, and also that he had his allotment of land given to
him by his family, as he wanted to live apart from his father and his
brothers; that he had a wife and two children; the elder boy went to
school, and did not yet help him in his work. He also said he lived in
lodgings and intended going to the horse-fair the next day to look for a
good horse, and, may be, to buy one. He went on to state that he had now
nearly twenty-five roubles--only one rouble short--and that half of it
was a coupon. He took the coupon out of his purse to show to his new
friend. The yard-porter was an illiterate man, but he said he had had
such coupons given him by lodgers to change; that they were good; but
that one might also chance on forged ones; so he advised the peasant,
for the sake of security, to change it at once at the counter. Ivan
Mironov gave the coupon to the waiter and asked for change. The waiter,
however, did not bring the change, but came back with the manager, a
bald-headed man with a shining face, who was holding the coupon in his
fat hand.

"Your money is no good," he said, showing the coupon, but apparently
determined not to give it back.

"The coupon must be all right. I got it from a gentleman."

"It is bad, I tell you. The coupon is forged."

"Forged? Give it back to me."

"I will not. You fellows have got to be punished for such tricks. Of
course, you did it yourself--you and some of your rascally friends."

"Give me the money. What right have you--"

"Sidor! Call a policeman," said the barman to the waiter. Ivan Mironov
was rather drunk, and in that condition was hard to manage. He seized
the manager by the collar and began to shout.

"Give me back my money, I say. I will go to the gentleman who gave it to
me. I know where he lives."

The manager had to struggle with all his force to get loose from Ivan
Mironov, and his shirt was torn,--"Oh, that's the way you behave! Get
hold of him."

The waiter took hold of Ivan Mironov; at that moment the policeman
arrived. Looking very important, he inquired what had happened, and
unhesitatingly gave his orders:

"Take him to the police-station."

As to the coupon, the policeman put it in his pocket; Ivan Mironov,
together with h