Seated sidewise on the massive table was a man of entirely different breed and aspect. To begin with, he wore an ordinary suit of mixed goods, such as any other inhabitants of the world at large might have sported; a scarlet tie--stained and crumpled--showed above his garish waistcoat, and a watch-chain of extreme thickness and brassiness dangled across his lean stomach. Quick, active, alert, lamentably unwashed as to neck and hands, he created at first glance the impression of believing himself to be somebody--a belief that since the morning two or three weeks before, when he had been, as he put it, “marooned” by the swollen waters of the Tvernovo, he had studiously endeavored to popularize. In spite of his unrecherché appearance and regrettable vulgarity of apparel, he had money--not in great quantities, perhaps, but much more than the few _kopeks_ the others there could afford to carry abroad with them. During his “enforced” sojourn he had constantly posed for the well-informed person who has traveled much, who reads the “leaves” (newspapers), and he had always in his pocket some disgustingly thumbed brochure of an eminently provocative nature, embellished with prints which should never have seen the light of day--or night, either, for the matter of that--but which he displayed with much pride on every possible occasion. So far, it may as well be admitted, he had not shown himself aggressive, nor had he given any one the right to consider him a revolutionary agent, but mayhap he was only a little cleverer than those who had preceded him, or he was merely biding a favorable moment for a declaration of principles. Be this as it might, to-night he seemed more loquacious than heretofore, and began to engage the _staròstá_ in an animated conversation--the animation being, of course, all on his side, for the other was a man of a really bovine stolidity. “What’ll you do if the water rises any higher?” the visitor demanded of that worthy. His accent was not pure, and belonged to no district of Russia. Indeed, it had a vague Teuton flavor, too slight, however, to be noticed by his illiterate audience; also his sentences did not conform precisely to the idiom of a native-born Muscovite. “Do?” The _staròstá_ removed his pipe from between his thick lips, cast a speculative glance at the dingy ceiling, and brought it slowly down again to the level of his interlocutor. “Why, we have already advised the _tchinòvnik_. What more can we do? It is his affair to help us when we’re in trouble.” He replaced his pipe in its natural receptacle, pushed back his fur cap, and fell silent again, as though the point was settled once and for all. “The _tchinòvnik_!” mocked the other. “Can he make the river go back to bed? And what about your tyrant? Why don’t you advise _him_ of the muddle you’re in here? Perhaps he’d be cleverer at that game than the _tchinòvnik_, and it’s his duty to protect you from harm, anyhow, isn’t it?”