II
Pobloff slept. He usually snored; but this evening he was too fatigued.
He heard not the sudden stoppages at lonely way stations where hoarse
voices and a lantern represented the life of the place; he did not heed
the engine as it thirstily sucked water from a tank in the heart of the
Karpakians; and he was surprised, pleased, proud, when a hot February
sun, shining through his window, awoke him.
It was six o'clock of a fine morning, and the train was toiling up a
precipitous grade to the spine of the mountain, where the down-slope
would begin and air-brakes rule. Pobloff looked about him. He scratched
his long nose, a characteristic gesture, and began wondering when coffee
would be ready. He pressed the bell. The guard entered, a miserable
bandit who bravely wore his peaked hat with green plumes a la Tyrol. He
spoke four tongues and many dialects; Pobloff calculated his monthly
salary at forty roubles.
"No, Excellency, the coffee will be hot and refreshing at Kerb, where we
arrive about seven." He cleared his throat, put out his hand, bowed low,
and disappeared.
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