In the group only two persons properly belonged to Horáček’s funeral procession, his aged mother and a very elegantly dressed young man who supported her. He was very pale, his gait was oddly trembling and uncertain, indeed it seemed at times as if he shook with chills. The Small Side populace scarcely noticed the weeping mother, for her burden was now lightened, and though she wept it was just because she was a mother and doubtless from joy. The young man, however, was in all probability from some other quarter, for no one recognized him.
“Poor fellow! He himself needs to be supported! Most likely he attended the funeral on Mrs. Horáček’s account!—What’s that? A friend of young Horáček’s?—Why, who would publicly acknowledge friendship for the disgraced man? Besides, Horáček from childhood had no friends. He was always a rascal! Unhappy mother!”
The mother cried heartbreakingly all the way and great tears rolled down the young man’s cheeks, despite the fact that Horáček had been a rascal from his very childhood.
Horáček’s parents were hucksters. They did not fare ill as, in general, hucksters who have their own shop get along well where many poor people live. Money gathers slowly, to be sure, when it comes in by kreutzers and groats for wood, butter and lard, especially when one must throw in a pinch of salt and caraway. But for all that, the groats are cash and two-groat
