I was waked up, it seemed to me, by our galloping very swiftly, and two voices talking quite close beside me.
“I say, Ignat, eh … Ignat!” said the voice of my driver; “take my fare; you’ve got to go anyway, and why should I go on for nothing—take him!”
The voice of Ignat close beside me answered—
“It’s no treat for me to have to answer for a passenger. … Will you stand me a pint bottle of vodka?”
“Go on with your pint bottle! … A dram, and I’ll say done.”
“A dram!” shouted another voice: “a likely idea! tire your horses for a dram!”
I opened my eyes. Still the same insufferable wavering snow floating before one’s eyes, the same drivers and horses, but beside me I saw a sledge. My driver had overtaken Ignat, and we had been for some time moving alongside. Although the voice from the other sledge advised him not to accept less than a pint, Ignat all at once pulled up his horses.
“Move the baggage in! Done! it’s your luck. Stand me a dram when we come tomorrow. Have you much baggage, eh?”
My driver jumped out into the snow with an alacrity quite unlike him, bowed to me, and begged me to get into Ignat’s sledge. I was perfectly ready to do so; but evidently the God-fearing peasant was so pleased that he wanted to lavish his gratitude and joy on someone. He bowed and thanked me, Alyoshka, and Ignashka.
“There, thank God too! Why, Lord ’a’ mercy, here we’ve been driving half the night, and don’t know ourselves where we’re going! He’ll take you all right, sir, but my horses are quite done up.”