After Chamberlain, to whom Gavrilin devoted half an hour, the international arena was taken by the American Senator Borah; the crowd began to wilt.
Both correspondents wrote:
"The speaker described the international situation in vivid language. . . ."
Gavrilin, now worked up, made some nasty comments about the Rumanian nobility and then turned to Mussolini.
It was only towards the end of his speech that he was able to suppress his second international nature and say in a good, businesslike way:
"And so, Comrades, I think that the tram about to leave the depot . . . is leaving on whose account?
Yours, of course, Comrades-and that of all workers who have really worked, not from fear, Comrades, but from conscience.
It is also due, Comrades, to that honest Soviet specialist, Chief Engineer Treukhov.
We must thank him as well."
A search for Treukhov was made, but he was not to be found.
The representative of the dairy co-operatives, who had been itching to have his say, squeezed through to the front of the platform, waved his hand, and began speaking loudly of the international situation.
At the end of the speech, both correspondents promptly jotted down, and they listened to the feeble applause:
"Loud applause turning into an ovation."
They both wondered whether "turning into an ovation" wasn't too strong.
The Muscovite made up his mind to cross it out.
Flywheel sighed and left it.
The sun rapidly rolled down an inclined plane.
Slogans resounded from the platform, and the band played a flourish.
The sky became a vivid dark blue and the meeting went on and on.
Both the speakers and the listeners had felt for some time that something was wrong, that the meeting had gone on much too long and that the tramway should be started up as soon as possible.
But they had all become so used to talking that they could not stop.
Treukhov was finally found.
He was covered with dirt and took a long time to wash his face and hands before going on to the platform.
"Comrade Treukhov, chief engineer, will now say a few words," announced Gavrilin jubilantly. "Well, say something-I said all the wrong things," he added in a whisper.
Treukhov wanted to say a number of things.
About voluntary Saturdays, the difficulties of his work, and about everything that had been done and remained to do.
And there was a lot to be done: the town ought to do away with the horrible market; there were covered glass buildings to be constructed; a permanent bridge could be built instead of the present temporary one, which was swept away each year by the ice drifts, and finally there was the plan for a very large meat-refrigeration plant.
Treukhov opened his mouth and, stuttering, began.
"Comrades !
The international position of our country . . ."
And then he went on to burble such boring truisms that the crowd, now listening to its sixth international speech, lost interest.
It was only when he had finished that Treukhov realized he had not said a word about the tramway.
"It's a shame," he said to himself, "we have absolutely no idea how to make speeches."
He remembered hearing a speech by a French Communist at a meeting in Moscow.
The Frenchman was talking about the bourgeois press.
"Those acrobats of the pen, those virtuosos of farce, those jackals of the rotary press," he exclaimed. The first part of his speech had been delivered in the key of A, the second in C, and the final part, the pathetique, had been in the key of E.
His gestures were moderate and elegant.
"But we only make a mess of things," decided Treukhov. "It would be better if we didn't talk at all."
It was completely dark when the chairman of the province executive committee snipped the red tape sealing off the depot.
Workers and representatives of public organizations noisily began taking their seats in the trams.
There was a tinkling of bells and the first tram, driven by Treukhov himself, sailed out of the depot to the accompaniment of deafening shouts from the crowd and groans from the band.
The illuminated cars seemed even more dazzling than in the daytime.
They made their way through Gusishe in a line; passing under the railway bridge, they climbed easily into the town and turned into Greater Pushkin Street.
The band was in the second tramcar; poking their trumpets out of the windows they played the Budyonny march.
Gavrilin, in a conductor's coat and with a bag across his shoulders, smiled tenderly as he jumped from one car to another, ringing the bell at the wrong time and handing out invitations to:
on May 1 at 9 p.m. GALA EVENING at the COMMUNAL SERVICES WORKERS' CLUB Programme 1. Report by Comrade Mosin.
2. Award of certificates by the Communal Service Workers' Union. 3. Informal half: grand concert, family supper and bar.
On the platform of the last car stood Victor Polesov, who had somehow or other been included among the guests of honour.
He sniffed the motor.
To his extreme surprise, it looked perfectly all right and seemed to be working normally.