the other direction.  In either case one has his bargaining sport, at one end of the journey or the other.  I find among my notes an illustration of this operation, which, however, falls far short of a conversation which I once overheard between a lower-class official and an izvostchik, who could not come to terms.  It ended in the uniformed official exclaiming:  “You ask too much.  I’ll use my own horses,” raising a large foot, and waving it gently at the cabmen.

“Home-made!” (literally, “self-grown”) retorted one izvostchik.  The rival bidders for custom shrieked with laughter at his wit, the official fled, and I tried in vain—­wonderful to relate—­to get the attention of the group and offer them a fresh opportunity for discussion by trying to hire one of them.

My note-book furnishes the following:  “If anybody wants a merry izvostchik, with a stylish flourishing red beard, I can supply him.  I do not own the man at present, but he has announced his firm intention of accompanying me to America.  I asked him how he would get along without knowing the language?

“‘I’d serve you forever!’ said he.

 “‘How could I send you on an errand?’ said I.

“‘I’d serve you forever!’ said he.

“That was the answer to every objection on my part.  He and a black-haired izvostchik have a fight for my custom nearly every time I go out.  Fighting for custom—­in words—­is the regular thing, but the way these men do it convulses with laughter everybody within hearing, which is at least half a block.  It is the fashion here to take an interest in chafferings with cabmen and in other street scenes.

“‘She’s to ride with me!’ shouts one. ’Barynya, I drove you to Vasily Island one day, you remember!’ ‘She’s going with me; you get out!’ yells the other.  ’She drove on the Nevsky with me long before she ever saw you; didn’t you, barynya? and the Liteinaya,’ and so on till he has enumerated more streets than I have ever heard of.  ’And we’re old, old friends, aren’t we, barynya?  And look at my be-e-autiful horse!’

“‘Your horse looks like a soiled and faded glove,’ I retort, ’and I won’t have you fight over me.  Settle it between yourselves,’ and I walk off or take another man, neither proceeding being favorably regarded.  If any one will rid me of Redbeard I will sell him for his passage-money to America.  I am also open to offers for Blackbeard, as he has announced his intention of lying in wait for me at the door every day, as a cat sits before a mouse’s hole.”  Vanka (the generic name for all izvostchiki) gets about four dollars or four dollars and a half a month from his employer, when he does not own his equipage.  In return he is obliged to hand in about a dollar and a quarter a day on ordinary occasions, a dollar and a half on the days preceding great festivals, and two dollars and a half on festival days.  If he does not contrive