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"Hah! Wait, prate, debate?" interrupted another Maciej,

christened Sprinkler,129 from a great club that he called his

sprinkling-brush; he had it with him to-day. He stood behind it,

rested both hands on the knob, and leaned his chin on his hands,

crying: "Delay, wait, debate! Hem, hum, haw, and then run away! I

have never been in Prussia; Konigsberg sense is good for Prussia,

but I have my plain gentleman's sense. This much I know: whoever

wants to fight, let him seize his sprinkling-brush; whoever

prefers to die, let him call the priest-that's all! I want to

live and fight! Of what use is the Bernardine? Are we schoolboys?

What do I care for that Robak? Now we will all be Robaks, that

is, worms, and proceed to gnaw at the Muscovites! Hem, haw!

spies! to explore! Do you know what that means? Why, that you are

impotent old beggars! Hey, brothers! It is a setter's work to

follow a trail, a Bernardine's to gather alms, but my work is-to

sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle, and that's all!"