said Schweik. "Then he's already served seven days of it."
"He was that cautious," wept Mrs. Palivec. "He himself always used to say so."
The customers in the taproom maintained a stubborn silence, as if the spirit of Palivec were hovering about and urging them to even greater caution.
"Caution is the mother of wisdom," said Schweik, sitting down to his glass of beer. "We're living in such queer times that a man can't be too cautious."
"We had two funerals yesterday," said the verger of St. Apolinnaire's, changing the subject.
"Somebody must have died," said another customer, whereupon a third man inquired :
"Did they have a regular hearse?"
"I'd like to know," said Schweik, "what the military funerals are going to be like now that there's a war on."
The customers rose, paid for their drinks and went out quietly. Schweik was left alone with Mrs. Palivec.
"I never thought," he said, "that they'd sentence an innocent man to ten years. I've already heard of an innocent man getting five years, but ten—that's a bit too much."
"And then my husband admitted everything," wept Mrs. Palivec. "What he said about the flies and the pictures, he repeated it word for word at the police station and in court. I was a witness at the trial, but what could I say when they told me I stood in a relation of kinship to my husband and that I could decline to give evidence? I was so scared of the relation of kinship, thinking it might lead to more trouble, that I declined to give evidence, and, poor fellow, he gave me such a look, I'll never forget the expression on his face, not to my dying day I won't. And then when they passed the sentence and they were taking him off, he shouted in the passage, as if he'd gone off his head : 'Up the rebels !' "
----
"And does Mr. Bretschneider still come here?" asked Schweik.
"He was here a few times," replied the landlady. "He had one or two drinks and asked me who comes here, and he listened to what the customers were saying about a football match. Whenever they see him, they only talk about football matches. And he fairly had the jumps as if any minute he'd go raving mad and start rampaging about. But the whole time he only managed to get hold of one gentleman, and he was a paper hanger."
"It's all a matter of practice," remarked Schweik. "Was the paper hanger a soft-headed sort of fellow?"
"Much the same as my husband," she replied, weeping. "Bretschneider asked him if he'd fire against the Serbs. And he said he didn't know how to shoot. He'd been once, he said, to a shooting gallery and had some shots for a crown. Then we all heard Mr. Bretschneider say as he took out his notebook : 'Hallo, another nice bit of high treason !' And he took the paper hanger away with him and he never came back."
"There's lots of them'll never come back," said Schweik. "Let me have a glass of rum."
Schweik was just having a second glass of rum when Bretschneider came into the taproom. He glanced rapidly round the empty bar and sat down beside Schweik. Then he ordered some beer and waited for Schweik to say something.
Schweik took a newspaper from the rack and glancing at the back page of advertisements, he remarked :
"Look here, that man Cimpera who lives at Straskov is selling a farm with thirteen roods of land belonging to it situated close to school and railway."
Bretschneider drummed nervously with his fingers, and turning to Schweik, he said :
"I'm surprised to find you interested in farming, Mr. Schweik."
"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Schweik, shaking hands with him. "I didn't recognize you at first. I've got a very bad memory for faces. The last time I saw you, as far as I remember, was in the office of the police headquarters. What have you been up to since then? Do you come here often?"
"I came here to-day on your account," said Bretschneider.
----
"They told me at the police headquarters that you're a dog fancier. I'd like a good ratter or a terrier or something of that sort."
"I can get that for
"He was that cautious," wept Mrs. Palivec. "He himself always used to say so."
The customers in the taproom maintained a stubborn silence, as if the spirit of Palivec were hovering about and urging them to even greater caution.
"Caution is the mother of wisdom," said Schweik, sitting down to his glass of beer. "We're living in such queer times that a man can't be too cautious."
"We had two funerals yesterday," said the verger of St. Apolinnaire's, changing the subject.
"Somebody must have died," said another customer, whereupon a third man inquired :
"Did they have a regular hearse?"
"I'd like to know," said Schweik, "what the military funerals are going to be like now that there's a war on."
The customers rose, paid for their drinks and went out quietly. Schweik was left alone with Mrs. Palivec.
"I never thought," he said, "that they'd sentence an innocent man to ten years. I've already heard of an innocent man getting five years, but ten—that's a bit too much."
"And then my husband admitted everything," wept Mrs. Palivec. "What he said about the flies and the pictures, he repeated it word for word at the police station and in court. I was a witness at the trial, but what could I say when they told me I stood in a relation of kinship to my husband and that I could decline to give evidence? I was so scared of the relation of kinship, thinking it might lead to more trouble, that I declined to give evidence, and, poor fellow, he gave me such a look, I'll never forget the expression on his face, not to my dying day I won't. And then when they passed the sentence and they were taking him off, he shouted in the passage, as if he'd gone off his head : 'Up the rebels !' "
----
"And does Mr. Bretschneider still come here?" asked Schweik.
"He was here a few times," replied the landlady. "He had one or two drinks and asked me who comes here, and he listened to what the customers were saying about a football match. Whenever they see him, they only talk about football matches. And he fairly had the jumps as if any minute he'd go raving mad and start rampaging about. But the whole time he only managed to get hold of one gentleman, and he was a paper hanger."
"It's all a matter of practice," remarked Schweik. "Was the paper hanger a soft-headed sort of fellow?"
"Much the same as my husband," she replied, weeping. "Bretschneider asked him if he'd fire against the Serbs. And he said he didn't know how to shoot. He'd been once, he said, to a shooting gallery and had some shots for a crown. Then we all heard Mr. Bretschneider say as he took out his notebook : 'Hallo, another nice bit of high treason !' And he took the paper hanger away with him and he never came back."
"There's lots of them'll never come back," said Schweik. "Let me have a glass of rum."
Schweik was just having a second glass of rum when Bretschneider came into the taproom. He glanced rapidly round the empty bar and sat down beside Schweik. Then he ordered some beer and waited for Schweik to say something.
Schweik took a newspaper from the rack and glancing at the back page of advertisements, he remarked :
"Look here, that man Cimpera who lives at Straskov is selling a farm with thirteen roods of land belonging to it situated close to school and railway."
Bretschneider drummed nervously with his fingers, and turning to Schweik, he said :
"I'm surprised to find you interested in farming, Mr. Schweik."
"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Schweik, shaking hands with him. "I didn't recognize you at first. I've got a very bad memory for faces. The last time I saw you, as far as I remember, was in the office of the police headquarters. What have you been up to since then? Do you come here often?"
"I came here to-day on your account," said Bretschneider.
----
"They told me at the police headquarters that you're a dog fancier. I'd like a good ratter or a terrier or something of that sort."
"I can get that for
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