as well to begin from the beginning, and, not knowing what else
to do to relieve his mind, the soldier began to swear at Kuvalda.

"Curses be upon your head, you drunken rascal! May the Devil
take you!"

"Do you mean the lawyer who composed your petition?" asked
Petunikoff, calmly, and added, with a sigh, "I have no doubt he
would have landed you in rather an awkward fix . . . had we not
taken pity upon you."

"Ah!" And the angry soldier raised his hand. "There are two of
them . . . One of them discovered it, the other wrote the
petition, the accursed reporter!"

"Why the reporter?"

"He writes for the papers . . . He is one of your lodgers . . .
there they all are outside . . . Clear them away, for Christ's
sake! The robbers! They disturb and annoy everyone in the
street. One cannot live for them . . . And they are all
desperate fellows . . . You had better take care, or else they
will rob or burn you . . ."

"And this reporter, who is he?" asked Petunikoff, with interest.

"He? A drunkard. He was a teacher but was dismissed. He drank
everything he possessed . . . and now he writes for the papers
and composes petitions. He is a very wicked man!"