And so they did not tell the Emperor, and this mode of cleaning continued down to the very date of the Crimean campaign. At that time, when they began to load their guns the bullets rattled about in them, because they had been cleaned with brick-dust. Then Martyn-Solsky reminded Count Tchernyscheff of the left-handed man, and Count Tchernyscheff said: "Go to the devil, you windbag! Don't meddle with what does not concern you, or I'll deny that I ever heard anything about this from you--and won't you just catch it!" Martyn-Solsky reflected: "He actually will deny it," and so he held his tongue. But if he had reported the left-handed man's words to the Emperor in season, the war with the enemy in the Crimea would have taken quite a different turn. XX And now all this is "a matter of bygone days" and "traditions of the olden times," albeit they are not so very ancient. But there is no need to make haste to forget these traditions, in spite of the fabulous style of the legend, and the epic character of its principal hero. The actual name of that hero, like the names of many of the greatest geniuses, is forever lost to posterity; but, considered as a myth personified by popular fancy, it is interesting, and his deeds may serve as a memorial of the epoch of which the general spirit has been faithfully and accurately caught. Of course, there are no longer any such master-workmen in Tula as this fabulous, left-handed man; machines have evened up the inequalities of talents and gifts, and genius is not eager to struggle against industry and accuracy. Machines, while favorable to a rise in wages, are not favorable to artistic enterprise, which formerly exceeded measure, inspiring the popular fancy to the fabrication of legends similar to the one in hand. Workmen, naturally, understand how to prize the benefits which have accrued to them from the practical adjustments of mechanical science, but they allude to the days that are past with pride and affection. This is their epos, and it has, moreover, a great deal of the "human soul" about it. _Three hundred copies were printed by D. B. Updike, at The Merrymount Press, Boston, in October, 1916, of which this is Number 66._ End of Project Gutenberg's The Steel Flea, by Nikolai Semyonovitch Lyeskoff