“Lies, all lies,” said Emelian, seated with his companions in a circle round the food which was spread out on white paper—in answer to a young factory hand who, on approaching them, told them that the distribution of gifts had begun.
“I tell you it is so. It’s contrary to regulations, but they have begun. I saw it myself. Each one receives a mug and a packet and away they go.”
“Of course, what do the crazy commissionaires care? They give as they choose.”
“But why should they, how can they—against regulations?”
“You see they can.”
“Let’s go, friends. Why should we wait?”
They all rose. Emelian pocketed his bottle with the remains of the vodka and advanced with his comrades. They had not gone more than twenty yards when the crowd became so dense that it was difficult to stir.
“What are you pushing for?”
“You’re pushing yourself.”
“You’re not the only one here.”
“That’ll do.”
“Oh, Lord! I’m crushed!” cried a woman’s voice.
A child could be heard screaming on the other side.
“Go to—”
“How dare you? Are you the only one? Everything will be taken before we get there. But I’ll be even with them, the beasts, the devils,” cried