"If I had not got you out this morning
you would still be in the police-station."
"There is something in that," observed Schmidt. "If he were not out, he
would still be in."
"Well, if I were, I should still be asleep," said Dumnoff. "That would not
be so bad, after all."
"You may be there again before long," suggested Fischelowitz. "You know
there is to be an inquiry. I only hope you will do plenty of work before
they lock you up for a fortnight."
"I suppose they will let me work in prison," answered Dumnoff,
indifferently. "They do in some places."
Vjera, whose ideas of prisons have been already explained at length, was
so much surprised that she at last opened her lips.
"Have you ever been in prison?" she asked in a wondering tone.
"Several times," replied the other, without looking up. "But always," he
added, as though suddenly anxious for his reputation, "always for that
sort of thing--for upsetting somebody who did not want to be upset. It is
a curious thing--I always do it in the same way, and they always tumble
down. One would think people would learn--" he paused as though
considering a profound problem.
"Perhaps they are not always the same people," remarked the Cossack.
"That is true. That may have something to do with it." The ex-coachman
relapsed into silence.
"But, is it not very dreadful--in prison?" asked Vjera rather timidly,
after a short pause.
"No--if one can sleep well, the time passes very pleasantly.
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