om his broodings on the shore, at the
landing-places, aroused by the bustle of toil. All sorts of articles
and wares were carried and carted in every direction; people moved about
hastily, care-worn, spurring on their horses excitedly, shouting at one
another, filling the street with unintelligible bustle and deafening
noise of hurried work. They busied themselves on a narrow strip of
ground, paved with stone, built up on one side with tall houses, and the
other side cut off by a steep ravine at the river, and their seething
bustle made upon Foma an impression as though they had all prepared
themselves to flee from this toil amid filth and narrowness and
tumult--prepared themselves to flee and were now hastening to complete
the sooner the unfinished work which would not release them. Huge
steamers, standing by the shore and emitting columns of smoke from their
funnels, were already awaiting them. The troubled water of the river,
closely obstructed with vessels, was softly and plaintively splashing
against the shore, as though imploring for a minute of rest and repose.

"Your Honour!" a hoarse cry rang out near Foma's ears, "contribute some
brandy in honour of the building!"

Foma glanced at the petitioner indifferently; he was a huge, bearded
fellow, barefooted, with a torn shirt and a bruised, swollen face.

"Get away!" muttered Foma, and turned away from him.

"Merchant! When you die you can't take your money with you. Give me
for one glass of brandy, or are you too lazy to put your hand into your
pocket?"

Foma again looked at the petitioner; the latter stood before
him, covered more with mud than with clothes, and, trembling with
intoxication, waited obstinately, staring at Foma with blood-shot,
swollen eyes.

"Is that the way to ask?" inquired Foma.

"How else? Would you want me to go down on my knees before you for a
ten-copeck piece?" asked the bare-footed man, boldly.

"There!" and Foma gave him a coin.

"Thanks! Fifteen copecks. Thanks! And if you give me fifteen more I'll
crawl on all fours right up to that tavern. Do you want me to?" proposed
the barefooted man.

"Go, leave me alone!" said Foma, waving him off with his hand.

"He who gives not when he may, when he fain would, shall have nay," said
the barefooted man, and stepped aside.

Foma looked at him as he departed, and said to himself:

"There is a ruined man and yet how bold he is. He asks alms as though
demanding a debt. Where do such