"He thinks that because he is a Town Councillor he is also clever."
"Yes; such folk are apt to grow very proud."
"Why, all his brains put together wouldn't grease one of my boots!"
And as the voices die away the old man's falsetto trickles forth anew, humming:
"The poor man's anger... Minika! Hi, you! Come in here, and I will give you a bit of sugar. How is your father getting on? Is he drunk at present?"
"No, sober, for he is taking nothing but kvas and cabbage soup."
"And what is he doing for a living?"
"Sitting at the table, and thinking."
"And has your mother been beating him again?"
"No—not again."