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"A pickpocket I dare say."

"Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and getting under the wheels

on purpose; and you have to answer for him."

"It's a regular profession, that's what it is."

But while he stood at the railing, still looking angry and

bewildered after the retreating carriage, and rubbing his back,

he suddenly felt someone thrust money into his hand. He looked.

It was an elderly woman in a kerchief and goatskin shoes, with a

girl, probably her daughter, wearing a hat, and carrying a green

parasol.

"Take it, my good man, in Christ's name."

He took it and they passed on. It was a piece of twenty copecks.

From his dress and appearance they might well have taken him for

a beggar asking alms in the streets, and the gift of the twenty

copecks he doubtless owed to the blow, which made them feel sorry

for him.