Page:The Jail, Experiences in 1916.pdf/103



The evening shadows fell upon the windows of the building opposite and crept into the greyish mist of our number 60. Eating had stopped, and smoking had increased accordingly. And the room was pervaded by an affable, peaceable mood. The sergeant knelt down beside old Nicolodi and was explaining to him that this would be over one day, that we should be set at liberty, that Nicolodi would proceed to the warm south, and he, the sergeant, would return to his coffee-house. Mr. Fröhlich was telling Dr. Smrecsanyi about his son, a lad of ten, a marvelloust gifted child, whereupon Mr. Smrecsanyi described to him the beauty and the intellectual attainments of that lady whom he ought to have met when he was in our midst. Mr. Fels and Mr. Goldenstein were deep in a conversation about some artful Galician sharper, and were mutually recalling his knavish tricks. Platoon-leader Kretzer was walking about with Mr. Karl, and they were whispering what must have been very interesting things, for they were deaf to everything that was taking place around them. At the other table the artillery-man was playing wolves and sheep with Hedrich who was so taken up by the game that he had even forgotten to smoke. A few spectators were following the contest; Voronin silently, while others were criticising and advising. This irritated the artillery-man so much that he began to curse and warned everyone in a very incisive manner. We were sitting with Dušek, Declich and Budi at our table, and were quietly discussing our fellow-inmates. Papa Declich termed the political prisoners "patriots", the remainder "Fallot",—we were patriots, Voronin was a patriot, the old man Nicolodi was a patriot, but otherwise the whole lot here were "Falloti", with the exception of Hedrich, who was neither a patriot nor a