The merchant had much trouble before he could get him into a corner and hear some business details. It appeared that the wagons had arrived in town on the very day that the insurrection broke out. Through the foresight of one of the wagoners, they had been taken into the great court-yard of a remote inn, but as to what had become of them since then the agent knew nothing.
After some further conversation the merchant said, "We shall not claim your hospitality to-night; we shall sleep wherever our wagons are." All the persuasions of the agent were peremptorily rejected.
This worthy but weak man seemed really distressed at the new danger into which his friend was determined to run.
"I shall call you up early," said the merchant, as he left; "I propose setting out to-morrow with my wagons, but first I wish to make a few, as you know, necessary visits to our customers, and to have your company during them." The agent promised to do his best by daylight.
Again our travelers went forth into the night, accompanied by the Pole, who had scornfully listened to the half-whispered conversation. As they went along the street, the principal, angrily throwing away his cigar, said to Anton,
"Our friend will be of little use to us; he is helpless as a child. In the beginning of the disturbance, he neglected to do his duty—to collect money, and seek for reimbursement."
"And now," said Anton, sorrowfully, "no one will be inclined to pay or reimburse us."
"And yet we must bring this about to-morrow, and you shall help me to do so. By heaven, these warlike convulsions are in themselves inconvenient enough to trade without this addition, paralyzing as they do all useful activity, which is the only thing that prevents us from becoming mere animals. But if a man of business allows himself to be more crushed than is absolutely unavoidable, he does an injury to civilization—an injury for which there is no compensation."
They had now reached a part of the town where empty streets, and the silence of the grave immediately at hand, only enhanced the horrors of the distant clamor and the red glare in the sky. At length they stopped before a low building with a large gateway. Entering, they looked into the bar, a dirty room with blackened rafters, in which loud-voiced and brandy-drinking patriots clustered on bench and table. The young officer called for the landlord. A fat figure with a red face appeared.
"In the name of the government, rooms for myself and my companions," said the young man. The host sullenly took up a bundle of rusty keys and a tallow candle, and led them to an upper floor, where he opened the door of a damp room, and morosely declared that he had no other for them.