THE JAIL
Papa Declich did the composition, I wrote. That we had searched the whole room and enquired of all the gentlemen who were in it, but there was no sign of the boots. Only Hedrich and the sergeant had left our room, but they had not taken them away. Everything was as of old, and everybody sent him their greetings.
Papa smiled at his statesman-like communication.
(Later, when I met Dušek at liberty, he assured me that he was concerned only to get a sign of life from us. He was allowed to write from there only once a month, and then he used to write only home—the enquiry for the boots had been at once granted him as a special case).
The Englishman had concluded his slumbers. He jumped down from the straw mattress, opened his box and again began to eat.
The doctor prepared some paper, sharpened a pencil, walked about and waited. The Englishman ate slowly, chewed with deliberation, and clearly had a lot of time to spare.
At last they began. The doctor superintended the instruction, asked questions, and pointed to the table, bench, straw mattresses, knife, floor, ceiling. The Englishman answered in a hesitant and quiet manner. Was he reflecting? Could he not remember? The doctor, an Italian, soon got excited and began to shout. The Englishman let nothing disturb his heedless composure.
Mr. Fels came away, sat down with me and said that the man had no method, that he had probably forgotten a good deal, and that it was a pity to waste time with him. He invited Mr. Goldenstein to a game of wolves and sheep.
The Englishman was already climbing back again on to the straw mattresses, lay down on his back and slept. The doctor sat down with the players,—he was quite agitated and excited from his lesson,—Mr. Fels again pointed out to him that the Englishman
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