Then followed a tall and bony man with a frightened expression in his large solitary right eye. He was silent and timid, and had been imprisoned three times for theft by order of a Justice of the Peace and a District Court. His family name was Kiselnikoff, but he was nicknamed “Taras-and-a-Half,” for being almost twice as tall as his bosom friend, Deacon Taras, who had been degraded from his office for drunkenness and immorality. The Deacon was a short, thick-set person, with the chest of an athlete and a round curly head. He danced with skill, and was still more skillful at swearing.

He and Taras-and-a-Half sawed wood on the banks of the river, and in free hours he told his friend or anyone who cared to listen, “Tales of my own composition,” as he used to call them. Listening to these stories, the heroes of which were always saints, kings, priests, or generals, even the inmates of the doss-house spat with disgust and opened their eyes in amazement at the imagination of the Deacon, who unrolled tales of lewd, shameless adventures, his eyes half closed. The phantasy of this man was powerful and inexhaustible; he could go on relating and improvising all day, from morning to night, without once repesting himself. A great poet might have been buried in his person, certainly a remarkable story- teller, capable of putting life and soul even into stones with his obscene, but strong and effective words.

There was also a crazy young man whom Kuvalda called Meteor. One night he came to sleep in the doss-house and had remained ever since among these men, much to their astonishment. At first they did not take much notice of him. In the daytime, like all the others, he went to search for earnings, but at night he always loitered around this friendly company till at last the Captain took notice of him.

“Boy! What business have you here on this earth?”

The boy answered boldly and stoutly: “I am a bare-footed tramp.…”

The Captain looked critically at him. This youngster had long hair, a naïve face, with prominent cheek- bones and a turned-up nose. He was dressed in a blue blouse without a belt, and on his head he wore the remains of a straw hat. His feet were bare.

“You are a fool!” decided Aristid Kuvalda. “What are you knocking about here for?…Do you drink vodka? …No!…Well, then, can you steal? Again, No. Go away, learn to be a man and then come back to us.…”

The youngster smiled.

“No. I shall go on living with you.”

“Why?”

“Just because…”

“Oh, you…Meteor!” said the Captain.

“I will break his teeth for him,” said Martyanoff.

“What for?” asked the youngster.

“Just because…”

“And I will take a stone and hit you on the head,” the young man answered respectfully.

Martyanoff would have broken his bones, had not Kuvalda interrupted with:

“Leave him alone.…We are all birds of one feather. You have no good reason to break his teeth for him. He has no better reason to want to live with us. Well, then, the devil take him!…We all live in the world without any good reason for it.”