Page:The Russian Review Volume 1.djvu/107

Rh "Get in!"

It seemed as though a blast of wind had blown the little peasant away. A second later, nothing but his worn-down, torn old boots were visible from under the bench, and even they soon disappeared.

At the same moment the passengers heard the request:

"Your tickets, please. Your tickets."

As the conductor repeated these words, the controller walked silently through the car, examining the tickets by the light of his lantern, and then punching them. He was a young man, with a kindly face. At the corners of his mouth there was the little humorous twist characteristic of the Little Russian. He performed his operation with the tickets in such a manner as though he felt that it was the most useless occupation in the world. "Click-click," went the puncher in the hushed car, joining its clicking to the clattering of the train. In the meantime, the conductor was looking under the benches. It seemed that the poor "traveller" was safe. The dark official sitting there by the window, with such a haughty and independent look on his face, and a cigar in his mouth, must have seemed to the conductors sufficient guarantee that everything was in order under the bench. They did not examine his baggage. There was, however, one man who must have noticed the "free passenger," for the humorous twist around his mouth trembled ever so slightly and became plainly visible. While the controller was standing before the official's bench, the betraying boot suddenly appeared and touched the controller's shining patent-leather shoe. The light of the lantern played on the shoe and the boot. And the boot looked so pitiful, so worn down, and on its torn sole were so plainly visible the mud and dust of thousands of versts, that the controller. ..

"Your tickets, please! Get your tickets ready!"

The conductor's voice came from the next compartment.

But the lady, who was waiting with eager interest to see how the peasant would be "discovered," rose from her bench, and moved towards the door with a determined look on her face.

"Shame on you, lady," said the bearded peasant, evidently guessing her intentions.

But she was already saying in her thin, aristocratic voice:

"Mr. Controller, you have missed one passenger."

The moment she said these words, the conductor rushed into the compartment and began to pull at the feet that were protruding from under the bench. The passengers looked on with great interest. Even the stern face of the retired Captain appeared from behind the end bench, and gazed on the scene with sternly set brows.

"Come on, you! Come on!" shouted the conductor, trying to pull out the ticketless passenger.

"Your Honor . . ." whispered the peasant, without getting out.

"Come on, come on! Dont you hear what I'm saying?" The conductor was getting angry. "Come out, now!"