"And who was the cause of it all?" shrieked the red-haired prisoner savagely. "Why there he is, with his devilish joke!" "Come," said Zazubrina soothingly, "didn't the whole lot of you agree to it?" And he hugged himself as if he were cold. "The whole lot of us, indeed!" sneered the hobbledehoy, "I like that. You alone are to blame!--yes, you are!" "Don't _you_ roar, pray, you bull-calf!" meekly suggested Zazubrina. The grey-headed old man took up the kitten, and after carefully examining it, pronounced his opinion: "If we were to dip it in kerosene we might wash the paint off." "If you'll take my advice you'll seize it by the tail and smash it against the wall," said Zazubrina, adding, with a laugh, "that's the simplest way out of it." "What?" roared the red-haired man, "and if I were to treat you the same way, how would _you_ like it?" "The devil," screamed the hobbledehoy, and, snatching the kitten out of the old man's hands, he set off running. The old man and a few of the others went after him. Then Zazubrina remained alone in the midst of a group of people, who glowered upon him with evil and threatening eyes. They seemed to be waiting for something from him. "Remember, I am not alone, my friends," whined Zazubrina. "Shut up!" shrieked the red-haired man, looking at the door; "not alone! Who else is there, then?" "Why the whole lot of you here," piped the jester nervously. "You hound, you!" The red-haired man shook his clenched fist in Zazubrina's very teeth. The artist dodged back only to get a violent blow in the nape of the neck. "My friends ..." he implored piteously. But his friends had taken note that the two warders were a good way off, and, thronging quickly round their favourite, knocked him off his legs with a few blows. Seen from a little distance the group might easily have been taken for a party engaged in lively conversation. Surrounded and concealed by them, Zazubrina lay there at their feet. Occasionally some dull thuds were audible--they were kicking away at Zazubrina's ribs, kicking deliberately, without the least hurry, each man waiting in turn for a particularly favourable kicking spot to be revealed as his neighbour, after planting his blow, wriggled his foot out of action. Three minutes or so passed thus. Suddenly the voice of the warder resounded in their ears: "Now, you devils! what are you about there?" The prisoners did not leave off the tormenting process immediately. One by one they slowly tore themselves away from Zazubrina, and as each one of them went away, he gave him a parting kick.