But as Fishel drove out of the town, he soon began to repent of his choice, even though the wagon was large, and he sitting in it in solitary grandeur, like any count. He saw that with a horse that dragged itself along in that way, there would be no getting far, for they drove a whole day without getting anywhere in particular, and however much he worried the peasant to know if it were a long way yet, the only reply he got was, "Who can tell?" In the evening, with a rumble and a shout and a crack of the whip, there came up with them Yainkel-Shegetz and his four fiery horses jingling with bells, and the large coach packed with passengers before and behind. Yainkel, catching sight of the teacher in the peasant's cart, gave another loud crack with his whip, ridiculed the peasant, his passenger, and his horse, as only Yainkel-Shegetz knows how, and when a little way off, he turned and pointed at one of the peasant's wheels.
"Hallo, man, look out! There's a wheel turning!"
The peasant stopped the horse, and he and the teacher clambered down together, and examined the wheels. They crawled underneath the cart, and found nothing wrong, nothing at all.
When the peasant understood that Yainkel had made a fool of him, he scratched the back of his neck below his collar, and began to abuse Yainkel and all Jews with curses such as Fishel had never heard before. His voice and his anger rose together:
"May you never know good! May you have a bad year! May you not see the end of it! Bad luck to you, you and your horses and your wife and your daughter and your aunts and your uncles and your parents-in-law and—and all your cursed Jews!"
It was a long time before the peasant took his seat again, nor did he cease to fume against Yainkel the driver and all Jews, until, with God's help, they reached a village wherein to spend the night.
Next morning Fishel rose with the dawn, recited his prayers, a portion of the Law, and a few Psalms, breakfasted on a roll, and was ready to set forward. Unfortunately, Chfedor (this was the name of his driver) was not ready. Chfedor had sat up late with a crony and got drunk, and he slept through a whole day and a bit of the night, and then only started on his way.
"Well," Fishel reproved him as they sat in the cart, "well, Chfedor, a nice way to behave, upon my word! Do you suppose I engaged you for a merrymaking? What have you to say for yourself, I should like to know, eh?"
And Fishel addressed other reproachful words to him, and never ceased casting the other's laziness between his teeth, partly in Polish, partly in Hebrew, and helping himself out with his hands. Chfedor understood quite well what Fishel meant, but he answered him not a word, not a syllable even. No doubt he felt that Fishel was in the right, and he was silent as a cat, till, on the fourth day, they met Yainkel-Shegetz, driving back from Chaschtschevate with a rumble and a crack of his whip, who called out to them, "You may as well turn back to Balta, the Bug has burst the ice."
Fishel's heart was like to burst, too, but Chfedor, who thought that Yainkel was trying to fool him a second time, started repeating his whole list of curses, called down all bad dreams on Yainkel's hands and feet, and never shut his mouth till they came to the Bug on Thursday evening. They drove straight to Prokop Baranyùk, the ferryman, to inquire when the ferry-boat would begin to run, and the two Gentiles, Chfedor and Prokop, took to sipping brandy, while Fishel proceeded to recite the Afternoon Prayer.