ewalk separated them. Waters looked up; a
house-lamp was above, dull and steady as a foggy star; and it showed
him, upon the box of the droschky, his enemy, the mainspring of all
his troubles. He halted short.

The istvostchik had recognized him likewise. He was something short
of drunk, but his liquor was lively in him, and he wrenched his poor
specter of a horse to a standstill. Upon his seat, padded hugely in
his gown, he had a sort of throned look, a travesty of majesty; his
whip was held like a scepter.

They stared at one another for a space of three or four breaths.
Waters was frankly aghast; this, upon the top of his other troubles,
was overwhelming. The istvostchik ruptured the moment with a brassy
yell.

"Wow!" he howled. "My Amerikanetz, the Foreigner, the jail-bird! Look
at him, brothers!" He waved his whip as though the darkness were
thronged with auditors. "Look at the jail-bird!"

From the gate below the dull lamp a dvornik poked his head forth.
Waters had a sense that every door and window in the street was
similarly fertile in heads.

"Stop that!" he called to the istvostchik. "That's enough, now."

The man upon the little cab rolled on his seat in a strident ecstasy
of eloquence, brandishing arm and whip abroad above the back of the
drooping horse.

"He tried to fight me, and first I beat him terribly oh, terribly!
and then I made a protocol and sent him to prison. See him?" he
bellowed. "See the jail-bird? See the dog?"

Waters swore helplessly. A month before, upon a quarter of such
provocation, he would have flashed into fight; but cold, hunger and
friendlessness had damped the tinder in him. He made to go on and get
away from it all; he started quickly.

"Come back, jail-bird!" howled the istvostchik.

"I haven't done with you, my golubchik, my little prison-rat. Come
back here to me when I bid you. What, you won't? Get on, you!"

The last was to the horse, accompanied by a rending slash with the
whip. The wretched animal jerked forward, and Waters backed to the
wall as his enemy clattered down upon him again.

"That'll do you," he warned as the cabman dragged his horse to a
standstill once more. "I'm not lookin' for trouble. You be on your
way!"

The immense ragged-edged voice of the istvostchik descended upon him,
drowning his protest.

"He runs away from me, this Amerikanetz! He runs away, because when I
find him I beat him I beat him whenever I find him. See now,
brothers, I