"There's nothing for us but to tramp it," he said sadly.
The horse-dealer shot out his arms in unaffected horror. In eastern Europe only the poor go on foot. Bad roads and good horses have something to do with people's dislike for walking.
"Tramp to Warsaw!" he cried. "The Lord of Ruvno tramp those horrible roads! Such a thing was never heard of. Peasants and the poorest Jews do that ... but no gentleman!"
"The times have changed," remarked Ostap. "But if you are so shocked at the thought of it do you help us to ride."
"Wait I will ask some of ours what is to be done."
He disappeared into a dirty-looking general shop which stood close at hand. In a very short time he emerged, beaming all over his broad, greasy face.
"My Lord Count," he cried, bursting with importance, "I have arranged everything. There will be a train."
"The last is just leaving," said Ostap. "We were turned off it to make room for the wounded."
"One is to arrive from Warsaw," persisted the Jew. "It will take the rest of the wounded and such of the citizens as want to go."
"Who said so?"