“It does, sir. And more than that happens sometimes—I ought to know that!... After all, that old man had made a mess of it, in one way, by going and hanging about the timber yard. You see, it wasn’t altogether at random; people should keep away from timber.... But sometimes it’ll happen this way: A man sits quiet, never mixes up in anything, fears God and honours his rulers, and does everything all right and proper, and all of a sudden, without either why or wherefore, people come and begin hitting him over the head and on the back, and boxing his ears, and knocking him down, and banging his head again, and giving him black eyes, and pitching him face downwards on the floor, and turning him over and kicking him, and poking his head into the gutter, ... and then afterwards, here you come and say, ‘nobody’s guilty’! And it turns out that the man who stuck your head in the gutter is as innocent as a dove. And the man who dragged you about face downwards is not guilty either!... And then, at the end, the man that got all the knocks turns out to be innocent, too.... ‘Go to your homes, good people; you’re all innocent!’ And all the same, when a man goes home, however much he’s proved innocent, his nose is broken and his mug’s all swelled-up, just as if—. Doesn’t seem to me to make much difference, whether he’s innocent or guilty; anyway, three teeth are knocked out of his jaw, and his arm’s broken, and he’s been shamed and disgraced, into the bargain. What’s one to think about that, in your opinion?” “Ah! yes,” said the steward, quite subdued, and not even attempting to orate; “certainly that’s not good manners.” “There you are! And yet nobody’s guilty.... One says: ‘I’ve got papers!’ and the next one says; ‘I’ve got papers!’ and the third one’s got papers, too.... But look here, my good sirs, I’d like to know what all this means! You’ve all got your papers, but I’ve got my own skin! I can buy all the paper I like for three kopecks, but I can’t buy a new jaw anyway.... Seems to me there’s a difference.” The giant tradesman spoke with evident excitement; he gesticulated with his hands, grew red in the face, and finally, quite out of breath, sat down in the middle of his sofa. “That’s the sort of thing that happens, gentlemen!” “Yes, it does happen, of course,” assented one of the skinflints; “a man gets half smashed, and nobody’s to blame.” “Exactly so,” said the tradesman; “maybe something of that kind has happened to you?” But the skinflint only growled, lifted his saucer to his lips, and made no answer. “Do you mean,” said one of the officers to the giant, “that anything of that kind has happened to you?” “Not only ‘that kind,’ but such a thing happened to me, that I think if I’d given way to my feelings I should have come to grief altogether....” “What was it all about?”