The crowd was silent, each man gazing at his neighbour.
"I should be glad," said the Prussian, "to wait for the Bernardine Robak, for all the tidings come from him. Meanwhile we should send trusty spies across the border and quietly arm all the country round; but meanwhile we should conduct the whole matter with caution, in order not to betray our intentions to the Muscovites."
"Hah! Wait, prate, debate?" interrupted another Maciej, christened Sprinkler,129 from a great club that he called his sprinkling-brush; he had it with him to-day. He stood behind it, rested both hands on the knob, and leaned his chin on his hands, crying: "Delay, wait, debate! Hem, hum, haw, and then run away! I have never been in Prussia; Königsberg sense is good for Prussia, but I have my plain gentleman's sense. This much I know: whoever wants to fight, let him seize his sprinkling-brush; whoever prefers to die, let him call the priest—that's all! I want to live and fight! Of what use is the Bernardine? Are we schoolboys? What do I care for that Robak? Now we will all be Robaks, that is, worms, and proceed to gnaw at the Muscovites! Hem, haw! spies! to explore! Do you know what that means? Why, that you are impotent old beggars! Hey, brothers! It is a setter's work to follow a trail, a Bernardine's to gather alms, but my work is—to sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle, and that's all!"
Here he patted his club; after him the whole crowd of gentry yelled, "Sprinkle, sprinkle!"
The side of Sprinkler was supported by Bartek, called Razor from his thin sabre; and likewise by Maciej, known as Bucket, from a blunderbuss that he
