THE DOG’S PASSPORT.
A Trifling Defect in The Mechanism.
BY
GLYEB USPÈNSKY.
“What I think about it is this: If a man is altogether innocent, there isn’t any need at all to punish that man. But when you get a man that’s either a criminal, or else what you may call a villain, or anything of that kind, then you should punish him. That’s all.”
The above reflections were uttered slowly, deliberately, and significantly, by the steward of the little steamer Perch, as he sat in his tiny crockery-filled pantry, cutting up a wheaten loaf into thin slices on the window-sill. The Perch, which travels once daily along the river Vỳdra, from the railway station to the little provincial town of M., is never very rich in passengers. Not many people care to sit for several hours at a stretch in the cabin, awaiting the moment when enough people shall have collected, “one at a time,” to repay the owner of the Perch for the cost of the fifty-verst journey. Impatient passengers, instead of waiting for the steamer, prefer to drive in to M., or to go by the branch railway which runs from the main line to the next posting station. Thus the only passengers who travel on the Perch are those who are in no hurry, who do not care whether they reach the town to-day or to-morrow, and who, indeed, even prefer to travel in a leisurely manner and at their ease; there is always so much room on the Perch that you can stretch yourself out at full length, undress, go to sleep—anything. This state of things is very convenient and profitable for the steward. The public saunters on to the steamer, in a gradual, indefinite way; and it is really not worth while ever to close the refreshment-bar, as it would have to be opened twenty times a day. This refreshment-bar, being constantly before the eyes of passengers who have nothing to do and feel no desire to hurry anywhere, can hardly fail to be in demand. Sometimes a man will sit lazily looking at the various drinks exposed, and will finally say: “Here, just pour me out some of that; I don’t particularly want a drink, but the bottle takes my fancy; what’s in it? Give me a glass.” And once the refreshment-bar is resorted to, the passengers, who have been waiting so long for the little mosquito of a steamer to whistle, involuntarily slip into a chat; somehow or other, all the people travelling on the Perch are sure to strike up acquaintance together and enter into a general conversation.
This was the case on the present occasion. In the second-class cabin about a dozen people of various kinds were sitting or lying on the sofas beside the tables and the bar window. There were two army officers, who, from their appearance and conversation, might have been shopkeepers in disguise, so feeble, effeminate, and altogether unmilitary was their manner; they were talking about their provisions, about “comfort and good living,” about the minutest of injustices and intrigues—intrigues over hay, and soldier’s kvass, and one thing and another. There were shopkeepers, artizans, and four money-lenders, evidently regular “skinflints,” who sat apart, drinking tea together, and abruptly snapping out broken phrases about their “business”: “Two six and six.”—“One rouble five.”—“And the goods?”—“All right.”—“Did you contract?”—“Yes,” &c.... In the intervals between these remarks they were affected by sudden, loud hiccoughing, almost like a volley of guns at a distance.
For some time the conversation among the passengers rather flagged, and was in no way interesting. The officers complained that every year they had to “make up out of their own pockets,” and boasted, each to the other, of their irreproachable character. The “skinflints” alternately snapped and hiccoughed; altogether, it was rather dull. In reference to what topic the steward uttered the sentence quoted at the beginning of this sketch I have no recollection. I did not hear all the previous conversation, and do not know what had made the steward feel it necessary to express his opinion about punishment; but that opinion somehow aroused in me a desire to listen further.
Having cut the bread into thin slices, and carefully swept up the crumbs into his fat hand, the steward began to cut thin slices of cheese, and continued, as gravely as before—