Ostap chased Polesov away from Nikesha and Vladya and asked them with genuine severity:
"Which regiment were you in?
You will have to serve your fatherland.
Are you members of the upper class?
Very good.
The West will help us.
Stand firm!
Contributions-I mean the organization-will be strictly secret.
Be careful!"
Ostap was on form.
Things seemed to be going well.
Ostap led the owner of Fastpack into a corner as soon as Elena Stanislavovna had introduced him, advised him to stand firm, inquired which regiment he had served in, and promised him assistance from abroad and complete secrecy of the organization.
The first reaction of the owner of Fastpack was a desire to run away from the conspiratorial apartment as soon as possible.
He felt that his firm was too solvent to engage in such a risky business.
But taking a look at Ostap's athletic figure, he hesitated and began thinking:
"Supposing . . .
Anyway, it all depends on what kind of sauce this thing will be served with."
The tea-party conversation livened up.
Those initiated religiously kept the secret and chatted about the town.
Last to arrive was citizen Kislarsky, who, being neither a member of the upper class nor a former guardsman, quickly sized up the situation after a brief talk with Ostap.
"Stand firm!" said Ostap instructively.
Kislarsky promised he would.
"As a representative of private enterprise, you cannot ignore the cries of the people."
Kislarsky saddened sympathetically.
"Do you know who that is sitting there?" asked Ostap, pointing to Ippolit Matveyevich.
"Of course," said Kislarsky. "It's Mr. Vorobyaninov."
"That," said Ostap, "is the master-mind, the father of Russian democracy and a person close to the emperor."
Two years' solitary confinement at best, thought Kislarsky, beginning to tremble. Why did I have to come here?
"The secret Alliance of the Sword and Ploughshare," whispered Ostap ominously.
Ten years, flashed through Kislarsky's mind.
"You can leave, by the way, but I warn you, we have a long reach."
I'll show you, you son of a bitch, thought Ostap. You'll not get away from here for less than a hundred roubles.
Kislarsky became like marble.
That day he had had such a good, quiet dinner of chicken gizzards and soup with nuts, and knew nothing of the terrible "Alliance of the Sword and Ploughshare".
He stayed. The words "long reach" made an unfavourable impression on him.
"Citizens," said Ostap, opening the meeting, "life dictates its own laws, its own cruel laws.
I am not going to talk about the aim of our gathering-you all know it.
Our aim is sacred.
From everywhere we hear cries.
From every corner of our huge country people are calling for help.
We must extend a helping hand and we will do so.
Some of you have work and eat bread and butter; others earn on the side and eat caviar sandwiches.
All of you sleep in your own beds and wrap yourselves in warm blankets.
It is only the young children, the waifs and strays, who are not looked after.
These flowers of the street, or, as the white-collar proletarians call them, 'flowers in asphalt', deserve a better lot.
We must help them, gentlemen of the jury, and, gentlemen of the jury, we will do so."
The smooth operator's speech caused different reactions among the audience.
Polesov could not understand his young friend, the guards officer.
"What children?" he wondered. "Why children?"
Ippolit Matveyevich did not even try to understand.