"Why do you say that?"
"I-di-ot!"
"There's a way of speaking!" said Yaakov in amazement, and Medvyejenok said to me:
"Just think of it! We dry up our blood and roast the marrow out of our bones in that infernal heat at the stoves while he guzzles like a boar!"
"Every one must work out his own fate," said the stoker, masticating.
I knew that to stoke the furnaces was heavier and hotter work than to stand at the stove, for I had tried several times at night to stoke with Yaakov, and it seemed strange to me that he did not enlighten the cook with regard to the heaviness of his labors. Yes, this man certainly had a peculiar knowledge of his own.
They all scolded him,—the captain, the engineer, the first mate, all of those who must have known he was not lazy. I thought it very strange. Why did they not appraise him rightly? The stokers behaved considerably better to him than the rest although they made fun of his incessant chatter and his love of cards.
I asked them: "What do you think of Yaakov? Is he a good man?"
"Yaakov? He's all right. You can't upset him whatever you do, even if you were to put hot coals in his chest."
What with his heavy labor at the boilers, and his appetite of a horse, the stoker slept but little. Often, when the watches were changed, without changing his clothes, sweating and dirty, he stayed the whole night on deck, talking with the passengers, and playing cards.