out to a contractor; he gave it out to another; and this subcontractor
gave it to Radish after subtracting twenty per cent. for himself.
The job was not a profitable one in itself, and the rain made it
worse; time was wasted; we could not work while Radish was obliged
to pay the fellows by the day. The hungry painters almost came to
beating him, called him a cheat, a blood-sucker, a Judas, while he,
poor fellow, sighed, lifted up his hand to Heaven in despair, and
was continually going to Madame Tcheprakov for money.

VII

Autumn came on, rainy, dark, and muddy. The season of unemployment
set in, and I used to sit at home out of work for three days at a
stretch, or did various little jobs, not in the painting line. For
instance, I wheeled earth, earning about fourpence a day by it. Dr.
Blagovo had gone away to Petersburg. My sister had given up coming
to see me. Radish was laid up at home ill, expecting death from day
to day.

And my mood was autumnal too. Perhaps because, having become a
workman, I saw our town life only from the seamy side, it was my
lot almost every day to make discoveries which reduced me almost
to despair. Those of my fellow-citizens, about whom I had no opinion
before, or who had externally appeared perfectly decent, turned out
now to be base, cruel people, capable of any dirty action. We common
people were deceived, cheated, and kept waiting for hours together
in the cold entry or the kitchen; we were insulted and treated with
the utmost rudeness. In the autumn I papered the reading-room and
two other rooms at the club; I was paid a penny three-farthings the
piece, but had to sign a receipt at the rate of twopence halfpenny,