Glorious.'"

The puffing of the engine and the clatter of the steamer's wheels,
mingling with the sounds of the music, produced in the air something
which sounded like the wild song of a snow-storm. The whistle of the
flute, the shrill singing of the clarionets, the heavy roaring of the
basses, the ruffling of the little drum and the drones of the blows
on the big one, all this fell on the monotonous and dull sounds of the
wheels, as they cut the water apart, smote the air rebelliously, drowned
the noise of the human voices and hovered after the steamer, like a
hurricane, causing the people to shout at the top of their voices. At
times an angry hissing of steam rang out within the engine, and there
was something irritable and contemptuous in this sound as it burst
unexpectedly upon the chaos of the drones and roars and shouts.

"I shall never forget, even unto my grave, that you refused to discount
the note for me," cried some one in a fierce voice.

"That will do! Is this a place for accounts?" rang out Bobrov's bass.

"Brethren! Let us have some speeches!"

"Musicians, bush!"

"Come up to the bank and I'll explain to you why I didn't discount it."

"A speech! Silence!"

"Musicians, cease playing!"

"Strike up 'In the Meadows.'"

"Madame Angot!"

"No! Yakov Tarasovich, we beg of you!"

"That's called Strassburg pastry."

"We beg of you! We beg of you!"

"Pastry? It doesn't look like it, but I'll taste it all the same."

"Tarasovich! Start."

"Brethren! It is jolly! By God."

"And in 'La Belle Helene' she used to come out almost naked, my dear,"
suddenly Robustov's shrill and emotional voice broke through the noise.

"Look out! Jacob cheated Esau? Aha!"

"I can't! My tongue is not a hammer, and I am no longer young.

"Yasha! We all implore you!"

"Do us the honour!"

"We'll elect you mayor!"

"Tarasovich! don't be capricious!"

"Sh! Silence! Gentlemen! Yakov Tarasovich will say a few words!"

"Sh!"

And just at the moment the noise subsided some one's loud, indignant
whisper was heard:

"How she pinched me, the carrion."

And Bobrov inquired in his deep basso:

"Where did she pinch you?"

All burst into ringing laughter, but soon fell silent, for Yakov
Tarasovich Mayakin, rising to his feet, cleared his throat, and,
stroking his bald crown, surveyed the merchants with a serious look
expecting attention.

"Well, brethren, open your ears!" shouted Kononov, with satisfaction.

"