Sometimes the prisoners chaffed or insulted the thin-skins I speak of, and then they would leave off complaining directly; as if they only wanted to be insulted to make them hold their tongues. Oustiantsef was no friend of grimacings of this kind, and never let slip an opportunity of bringing that sort of delinquent to his bearings. Besides, he was fond of scolding; it was a sort of necessity with him, engendered by illness and also his stupidity. He would first fix his gaze upon you for some time, and then treat you to a long speech of threatening and warning, and a tone of calm and impartial conviction. It looked as though he thought his function in this world was to watch over order and morality in general. “He must poke his nose into everything,” the prisoners with a laugh used to say; for they pitied, and did what they could to avoid conflicts with him. “Has he chattered enough? Three waggons wouldn’t be too much to carry away all his talk.” “Why need you put your oar in? One is not going to put himself about for a mere idiot. What’s there to cry out about at a mere touch of a lancet?” “What harm in the world do you fancy _that_ is going to do you?” “No, comrades,” a prisoner strikes in, “the cuppings are a mere nothing. I know the taste of them. But the most horrid thing is when they pull your ears for a long time together. That just shuts you up.” All the prisoners burst out laughing. “Have you had them pulled?” “By Jove, yes, I should think he had.” “That’s why they stick upright, like hop-poles.” This convict, Chapkin by name, really had long and quite erect ears. He had long led a vagabond life, was still quite young, intelligent, and quiet, and used to talk with a dry sort of humour with much seriousness on the surface, which made his stories very comical. “How in the world was I to know you had had your ears pulled and lengthened, brainless idiot?” began Oustiantsef, once more wrathfully addressing Chapkin, who, however, vouchsafed no attention to his companion’s obliging apostrophe. “Well, who did pull your ears for you?” some one asked. “Why, the police superintendent, by Jove, comrades! Our offence was wandering about without fixed place of abode. We had just got into K----, I and another tramp, Eptinie; he had no family name, that fellow. On the way we had fixed ourselves up a little in the hamlet of Tolmina; yes, there is a hamlet that’s got just that name--Tolmina. Well, we get to the town, and are just looking about us a little to see if there’s a good stroke of tramp-business to do, after which we mean to flit. You know, out in the open country you’re as free as air; but it’s not exactly the same thing in the town. First thing, we go into a public-house; as we open the door we give a sharp look all round. What’s there? A sunburnt fellow in a German coat all out at elbows, walks right up to us. One thing and another comes up, when he says to us: