The great market-place seethed with shouting, gesticulating persons. The air resounded with the din of thousands of human beings. The clamorous despair of the wretched poor, the grunting indifference of the sated rich, the screeching impudence of the money-hungry,--all mingled here and rose above the heads of the multitude, deafening the ears of the unaccustomed spectator. About Itsye all manner of individuals were walking, hurrying, scampering, with and without bundles. Almost every passer-by touched him, jostled against him, but he stood there calm, motionless. It occurred to him that this in itself was good,--that in this manner alone he was doing harm. Yes, he must continue to stand here and obstruct everybody’s passage! His eyes, however, darted about the square, as if seeking there just what form his vindictive ire should assume. They rested upon the bread-shops and the bank-stalls, laden with “Korah’s wealth.” And he began to contemplate how it would be if he made off with a packet of bank-notes.... A porter with a large case on his shoulders bumped against him, nearly pushing him over. He felt an intense pain in his back and came to himself. He turned red with anger. “You plague, you! Where are your eyes?” The porter mumbled something from under his burden and continued on his way with heavy steps. Itsye, however, felt the pain and rubbed his back. “I’ll bury you together with the case, you piece of carrion-meat!” The porter craned his neck from under his case and looked back at the shouting man. Itsye’s appearance called forth little deference from the toiler; he stopped for a moment and eyed his opponent with scorn. “Hold your mouth, or I’ll stop it for you so that you’ll be dumb forever. I’ll show you what ‘carrion-meat’ means, you bloody dog!” The porter went on his way, grumbling and cursing. Itsye muttered a few imprecations and turned his head in another direction. “What have you planted yourself here for, in everybody’s way?” he heard a surly voice exclaim behind him. He looked around. Kaplan, the shopkeeper, was standing in the doorway of his shop, eyeing him angrily. He replied coarsely: “What worry is that of yours?” Kaplan grew excited. “I’ll soon show you what worry of mine it is!” And he sent the errand-boy after a policeman. As he ran by Itsye the boy jeered, with mischievous eyes, “Just wait a moment! You’ll soon have a good drubbing!” Itsye spitefully refused to move. To hell with everybody! Now then,--what was it he had been thinking of before? And his glances began to wander across the square and the faces of the people, as he tried to recall his previous thoughts. When he noticed the boy returning with a policeman he turned his head indifferently aside. “What are you standing here for? Move on! Off with you!” commanded the guardian of order. Itsye slowly faced about. “Is this spot private property, what?” “Move on, I tell you!” Itsye resumed his former position. “Move on!”