The glass in the windows was not rattling, and, looking at the panes closely, he saw that they were padded with rubber.
He had already made several comments to the driver and was now considered by the public to be an expert on trams in the West.
"The pneumatic brake isn't working too well," said Polesov, looking triumphantly at the passengers. "It's not sucking!"
"Nobody asked you," replied the driver. "It will no doubt suck all right,"
Having made a festive round of the town, the cars returned to the depot, where a crowd was waiting for them.
Treukhov was tossed in the air beneath the full glare of electric lights.
They also tried tossing Gavrilin, but since he weighed almost 216 pounds and did not soar very high, he was quickly set down again.
Comrade Mosin and various technicians were also tossed.
Victor Polesov was then tossed for the second time that day.
This time he did not kick with his legs, but soared up and down, gazing sternly and seriously at the starry sky.
As he soared up for the last time, Polesov noticed that the person holding him by the foot and laughing nastily was none other than the former marshal of the nobility, Ippolit Matveyevich Vorobyaninov.
Polesov politely freed himself and went a short distance away, still keeping the marshal in sight.
Observing that Ippolit Matveyevich and the young stranger with him, clearly an ex-officer, were leaving, he cautiously started to follow them.
As soon as everything was over, and Comrade Gavrilin was sitting in his lilac Fiat waiting for Treukhov to issue final instructions so that they could then drive together to the club, a Ford station-wagon containing newsreel cameramen drove up to the depot gates.
A man wearing twelve-sided horn-rimmed spectacles and a sleeveless leather coat was the first to spring nimbly out of the vehicle.
A long pointed beard grew straight out of his Adam's apple.
A second man carried the camera and kept tripping over a long scarf of the kind that Ostap Bender usually called chic moderne.
Next came assistants, lights and girls.
The whole group tore into the depot with loud shouts.
"Attention!" cried the bearded owner of the leather coat. "Nick, set the lights up!"
Treukhov turned crimson and went over to the late arrivals.
"Are you the newsreel reporters?" he asked. "Why didn't you come during the day? "
"When is the tramway going to be opened? "
"It has already been opened."
"Yes, yes, we are a little late.
We came across some good nature shots.
There was loads of work.
A sunset! But, anyway, we'll manage.
Nick, lights!
Close-up of a turning wheel.
Close-up of the feet of the moving crowd.
Lyuda, Milochka, start walking!
Nick, action!
Off you go!
Keep walking, keep walking !
That's it, thank you!
Now we'll take the builder.
Comrade Treukhov?
Would you mind, Comrade Treukhov?
No, not like that.
Three-quarters. Like this, it's more original! Against a tram . . . Nick!
Action!
Say something! "
"I. . . I. . . honestly, I feel so awkward!"
"Splendid!
Good!
Say something else!
Now you're talking to the first passenger. Lyuda, come into the picture!
That's it. Breathe deeper, you're excited! . . .
Nick!