The three hesitated--looked at one another--then withdrew for a conference into the chickens’ apartment. When they returned, the old man said: “Pardon, my lord--but if we do this, may we not get into trouble?” “Isn’t it worth running a little risk to get twenty times a thing’s value?” Drexel returned sharply. They conferred again. “But if I sell this, what shall I wear?” asked the old man. “Oh, Lord!” groaned Drexel in exasperation. “Can’t you take ten rubles of the hundred and buy a new suit?” “No--I dare not buy new clothes. All the village knows we are very poor, knows we have hardly a single ruble. If I get a new suit all the village will ask questions and be suspicious. My lord knows how the police look into everything; they would take it up and make trouble.” He shook his head. “No, I dare not sell.” The old man was right about the new suit, Drexel had to admit. His situation seemed hopeless. But as they talked on a way opened, and finally they settled upon a plan. Drexel was to have the clothes--the old man was to remain in bed for a day on pretense of illness--the son was to accompany Drexel to St. Petersburg to bring back the suit--and on the day after the morrow the father could go about in his accustomed garb. Tired as he was, Drexel had to laugh at all this complicated caution to give him a few hours’ use of a suit hardly worth its weight in rags. The young woman delicately provided them privacy by lying down on the broad low wooden shelf that is the peasant’s only bed and turning her face to the wall. A moment later the old man was under a tattered blanket on the same bed, and his clothes were on the earthen floor. Drexel, not without some shrinking of the flesh, changed into the old shirt of homespun linen, the tattered trousers, and the greasy coat with the fleece turned inward. Instead of boots or shoes there were slippers of woven grass, and these the son tied on with cords, having first swathed Drexel’s feet and calves in rags. Drexel roughened his moustache, touselled his hair and put on a fur cap which settled upon his ears. He still did not look a typical village peasant, but he counted on passing for a peasant workingman who fluctuated between country and city. He offered his discarded garments as a gift to the family for he dared not take them with him. But the old man refused; such fine clothes would surely get them into trouble. There was only one other course. In one corner, filling a third of the room, stood a great, clay-built oven. Drexel opened the door of this, and into the fire went the dangerous raiment. Two minutes later Drexel and the young man stepped out into the white, starry night; and after following a beaten sleigh-track for an hour, and when Drexel was feeling that his straw-shod feet had turned to ice, they came at last to the station.