more than the tones of a human being. “You’re going, Joseph, really going? There is no God above us if you get there safely! And if you sell, my curse goes with you! Do you hear?”
The factory owner urged the coachman to whip up the horses, but, unfortunately, something slipped loose on the harness and it was necessary to first fix it. The screams of Nešněra frightened the horses.
“See—see? God does not wish it!” shrieked the old man, half mad with sorrow.
Vainly the neighbors tried to mollify him. He neither heard nor saw, only fought to pull himself free of their grasp. And when the carriage started to drive away, Nešněra by superhuman strength threw aside those who stood in his way and, seizing a big stone in the yard, threw it after the receding carriage.
A loud scream was heard—Nešněra had struck the manager—but the horses plunged ahead.
“He gave it to him! Lord, but he struck him right! Good for him! Pity he didn’t hit the right one!” these and similar exclamations were heard all around.
Nešněra, after this explosion, was like one broken and burst into loud sobbing, refusing to be quieted even after the neighbors had led him into the room.
The evening of the same day a constable came and led away the old man in irons. He made no resistance. Many things had happened that day. Nešněra in grief over his son’s treachery had gone to the inn
