ectly,
that when he said that he wouldn't drink any more he had let fall some
threat. Well, it didn't much matter; if he got drunk, that was his
affair. But why did he come to Ivan's village to get drunk? Why didn't
he go to the tavern in his own colony?

Ivan hailed the man. "Good-morning, Peter."

Peter did not return the greeting; he stared like a stupid dog who
doesn't know his own master. He looked at Ivan with a wild eye, he
pressed his lips together, and his nostrils extended. He drew his cap
down over his eyes.

Ivan asked him, "Has the choke-damp got into your pit?"

No answer from Peter. He shoved his cap from off his forehead, and,
opening his mouth to its full extent, bent his face to that of Ivan,
and let his hot, spirit-laden breath blow over him. Then, without
saying a syllable, he turned away, and set off running in the
direction of the company's mine.

The heated breath of the man, with the sickening smell of bad brandy,
sent a shudder through Ivan's frame. He stood still, staring after the
runaway, who, when he had got a certain distance, stopped and looked
back. Ivan could see his face distinctly. He looked like a madman; his
lips hung apart, like those of a mad dog; his white teeth gleamed in
contrast to his red gums. His whole appearance was so strange and
desperate that Ivan laid hold of the revolver in his pocket. For one
moment the thought passed through his mind that he would be doing a
good work in freeing the world of such a creature, but on second
thoughts he let him go unharmed, and continued his way to the mine to
look after the ventilators.

In the vault the proportion between the hydrogen and the air was three
to seven. Ivan forbade any work to be done in the mine, or any pumping
out of the dangerous gas. He employed his men in the open air,
removing the coal that was required, and only allowed those to remain
below who had to look after the air-pumps.

He remained the whole day on the spot, controlling everything and
keeping a close watch. Towards evening he left the mine and returned
to his house. Everything was apparently safe. It was a nasty, foggy,
gloomy evening; the state of the atmosphere reacted upon the mind and
body alike. When nature is out of sorts, man suffers; when the sky is
overcast, he, too, is gloomy. And when the earth is sick, when worms
and mould destroy the fruit, when the harvest is ruined by blight, and
the cattle are decimated by pestilence--above all, w