Nikolay came out of the shed with the little trampled body of the glazier's boy hanging limply over his arm. The furrier laid him on the ground then he straightened himself and shouted: "Water, women, you rotten carrion!" Zina and the cook ran off for water. Kuzin lolling his head back snorted dully. "Murder! Police!" Nikolay turned to him, and gave him a kick on the breast which laid him flat on his back. "You dirty dogs!" he shouted, the whites of his black eyes flashing. "You dirty dogs! A child is being killed, and it's a show to you! I'll smash every one of your ugly mugs!" Oaths from all sides answered him, but nobody dared to approach him. "Let's go," said the master, taking Yevsey by the hand. As they walked away they saw Kuzin run noiselessly in a stooping position to the gates. "To call the police," the master explained to Yevsey. When Yevsey was alone he felt that his jealousy of Anatol had left him. He strained his slow mind to explain to himself what he had seen. It merely _seemed_ that the people liked Anatol, who amused them. In reality it was not so. All people enjoyed fighting, enjoyed looking on while others fought, enjoyed being cruel. Nikolay had interceded for Anatol because he liked to beat Kuzin, and actually did beat him on almost every holiday. Very bold and strong he could lick any man in the house. In his turn he was beaten by the police. So to sum up, whether you are quiet or daring, you'll be beaten and insulted all the same. Several days passed. The tenants talking in the yard, said that the glazier boy, who had been taken to the hospital, had gone insane. Then Yevsey remembered how the boy's eyes had burned when he gave his performances, how vehement his gestures and motions had been, and how quickly the expression of his face had changed. He thought with dread that perhaps Anatol had always been insane. He soon forgot the glazier boy. CHAPTER VI In the rainy nights of autumn short broken sounds came from the roof under Yevsey's window. They disquieted him and prevented him from sleeping. On one such night he heard the angry exclamations of his master: "You vile woman!" Rayisa Petrovna answered as always in a low singing voice: "I cannot permit you, Matvey Matveyevich." "You low creature! Look at the money I am paying you!" The door to the master's room was open, and the voices came in clearly to Yevsey. The fine rain sang a tearful song outside the window. The wind crept over the roof, panting like a large homeless bird fatigued by the bad weather and softly flapping its wet wings against the panes. The boy sat up in bed, put his hands around his knees, and listened shivering. "Give me back the twenty-five rubles, you thief!" "I do not deny it. Dorimedont Lukin gave me the money." "Aha! You see, you hussy!" "No, permit me--when you asked me to spy on the man--" "Hush! What are you screaming for?"