This appeal to filial love made every one laugh, and several of his white rolls were purchased.
“Well,” he said, “Gazin has drunk in such a style, it is quite a sin. He has chosen a nice moment too. If the man with the eight eyes should arrive—we shall hide him.”
“Is he very drunk?”
“Yes, and ill-tempered too—unmanageable.”
“There will be some fighting, then?”
“Whom are they speaking of?” I said to the Pole, my neighbour.
“Of Gazin. He is a prisoner who sells spirits. When he has gained a little money by his trade, he drinks it to the last kopeck; a cruel, malicious animal when he has been drinking. When sober, he is quiet enough, but when he is in drink he shows himself in his true character. He attacks people with the knife until it is taken from him.”
“How do they manage that?”
“Ten men throw themselves upon him and beat him like a sack without mercy until he loses consciousness. When he is half dead with the beating, they lay him down on his plank bedstead, and cover him over with his pelisse.”
“But they might kill him.”