He hated the scavenger’s business from the very bottom of his soul, and now he walked once more beside his cart with sand and led by the hand the son of Francis, called Francis like his father; he instilled into him a love for a calling for which he himself felt no love; he pointed out to him its advantages, though he himself knew of none; he was silent about its disadvantages of which he could count so large a number.
But he adapted himself to it once again. He still continued to exercise his trade in horses, not however to the same extent as formerly, but only like an artist, when he felt an inclination to do so.
But now as day by day with little Francis he rolled out his “hee! hee!” and “heesta!” alongside his vehicle, he felt delighted when the boy first caught up the cry, and then he taught the little fellow to say “cl! cl!” and to shout at the horses, and he felt enormous delight when Francis’ first oath tripped off his tongue in the true Poldikian style. He already began to settle down to scavenging and it began to please him.
And now his horses again halted at the alehouse, at the blacksmith’s, the fruiterer’s and the tobacconist’s, only they were different horses and rather brisker than the old ones. And then there was a different landlord at the alehouse, at the blacksmith’s forge a different blacksmith, at Naplavka also an almost completely different set of sandsmen and
