"Of course not; but you don't mean to run away—do you?"
"Dry up!"
"Nobody is near us."
"I never was so disgusted with anything in my life as I am with this election business. If I say anything, the fellows tell me it is a chicken of my own hatching. Now, Cantwell pretends to be one of the chaplain's lambs, affects a gentlemanly bearing, and studies seamanship when all of us are on shore. Then he gave that Billy Bobstay a hundred rubles, and the fellows all cheered him for it. I am so mad, I can hardly hold in. I would rather be in a slave ship than here. I'm nobody now."
De Forrest's schemes for his personal advancement had been utterly defeated, and this fact was the key to his disgust. Though he had been a wild boy on shore, he had done very well on board of the ship, stimulated by the hope of promotion, and by the enjoyment of his position in the cabin. His fall from the rank of lieutenant had a bad effect upon him, for instead of working to recover his lost position, he permitted evil thoughts to take possession of his mind, and chose to regard himself as an abused individual. Like many men in public life, he had frittered away whatever influence he had by laboring for self, instead of the general good. The students of the Academy "saw through him," and realized that he acted only from selfish considerations, just as the sensible people penetrate the motives of the politicians. If he was "nobody" now, it was clearly his own fault.
"What are you going to do, De Forrest?" asked Beckwith.
"We won't talk about it now, for there will be plenty of time to consider that matter when we get to Moscow. Do you know who will have charge of our party?"
"I heard some one mention the chaplain."
"Good!" exclaimed De Forrest. "He is not particularly sharp."
"But Dr. Winstock will go to Moscow with us, and accompany the Volga party to Kazan."