"Dai te chai, poshowltz" ("Give us tea, please"), he said, as they took their seats at the table.
"Si chass," replied the waiter, and in a few moments three glasses of steaming tea were before them.
The traveller in Russia will hear "Si chass" pronounced a good many times daily while he is in the Empire. It is like the French waiter's "Tout de suite," or the English one's "Coming, sir." Practically they mean the same thing. The literal translation of "Si chass" is "This hour;" and perhaps this will account for the fact that it is often an hour before a simple demand can be met. The waiter in Russia is no more reliable than' in other countries, and not generally as intelligent as the man of the same occupation in a French café. Many of the servants in the hotels of St. Petersburg are French or German, instead of Russian; in the best hotels the Russian waiters almost invariably speak French or German, in addition to their own language.
When the tea-drinking was ended, Frank beckoned the waiter, and addressed him with the inquiry, "Skolka stoit" ("How much does it cost?"). The waiter comprehended at once, and, somewhat to Frank's disappointment, placed on the table a written check on which was noted in figures the indebtedness of the party. The disappointment was not caused by the price of the tea (only five copecks the glass), but by the removal of the opportunity for the young man to make further airing of his Russian by displaying his knowledge of the spoken numerals. The printed or written figures of the Russian language are the same as those of other European nations, and a stranger can get along with them without the least trouble, even though he does not know a word of Russian.
Near the hotel they met a party consisting of two policemen and as many prisoners. The latter appeared to be under the influence of strong drink, and the policemen did not find it easy to make them move along. They were not quarrelsome or obstinate; in fact, their limbs were too weak to allow them to make any resistance.
"They'll have a job of street-sweeping to-morrow," said the Doctor, "unless the customs have changed since the first time I was here."
"Do they make prisoners sweep the streets?" one of the youths asked.
"They did at that time, and quite likely they do so now," the Doctor answered. "Every person arrested for intoxication was required to sweep the streets the next day for a given number of hours, and it is a strange sight when, as sometimes happens, the sweepers are in the garments in which they have been wending their devious ways homeward from a ball, or perhaps from a party where fancy costumes have been worn. Gener-
