Jan flung his baggage on to somebody and soundly boxed the
corporal's ears, calling him a "gloop." Instantly the corporal felt that
"here was a man he could really understand," and from that moment became
a devoted adherent, studying our slightest whim, and at intervals humbly
laying walnuts before us.
A man came up to Jan.
"I believe that man is drunk," said he; "I said that your carts might
stand."
"Who are you?" said Jan.
"I was once the conductor of the Crown Prince's orchestra," he said;
"now I am traffic superintendent. It is difficult. I had a horse, a
jolly little brown horse, but he gave out and I had to leave him behind
on the road." There were tears in the man's voice. "He was a good
horse, but it was too hard for him. Now I have to walk."
"I shot your horse," said Jan. "They were driving over its body."
"He was a nice horse," said the man again, "a nice horse, and now I have
to walk. Well, good-bye, you can rest here."
He splashed away in the mud.
Our new sleeping place was worse: the mud was deeper, the road narrower.
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