"Full up" in fresh voices and everything proceeded as though the trams had been going since the time of St. Vladimir the Red Sun.
Disabled persons of all categories, women and children and Victor Polesov sat at the front of the cars.
To the cry of "Fares please" Polesov used to answer "Season" and remain next to the driver.
He did not have a season ticket, nor could he have had one.
The sojourn of Vorobyaninov and the smooth operator left a deep imprint on the town.
The conspirators carefully kept the secret entrusted to them.
Even Polesov kept it, despite the fact that he was dying to blurt out the exciting secret to the first person he met.
But then, remembering Ostap's powerful shoulders, he stood firm.
He only poured out his heart in conversations with the fortune-teller.
"What do you think, Elena Stanislavovna?" he would ask. "How do you explain the absence of our leaders? "
Elena Stanislavovna was also very intrigued, but she had no information.
"Don't you think, Elena Stanislavovna," continued the indefatigable mechanic, "that they're on a special mission at present?"
The fortune-teller was convinced that this was the case.
Their opinion was apparently shared by the parrot in the red underpants as well.
It looked at Polesov with a round, knowing eye as if to say:
"Give me some seeds and I'll tell you all about it.
You'll be governor, Victor.
All the mechanics will be in your charge.
And the yard-keeper from no. 5 will remain as before- a conceited bum."
"Don't you think we ought to carry on without them, Elena Stanislavovna?
Whatever happens, we can't sit around doing nothing."
The fortune-teller agreed and remarked:
"He's a hero, our Ippolit Matveyevich."
"He is a hero, Elena Stanislavovna, that's clear.
But what about the officer with him?
A go-getting fellow.
Say what you like, Elena Stanislavovna, but things can't go on like this.
They definitely can't."
And Polesov began to act.
He made regular visits to all the members of the secret society "Sword and Ploughshare", pestering Kislarsky, the canny owner of the Odessa Roll Bakery of the Moscow Bun artel, in particular.
At the sight of Polesov, Kislarsky's face darkened.
And his talk of the need to act drove the timid bun-maker to distraction.
Towards the week-end they all met at Elena Stanislavovna's in the room with the parrot.
Polesov was bursting with energy.
"Stop blathering, Victor," said the clear-thinking Dyadyev. "What have you been careering round the town for days on end for?"
"We must act!" cried Polesov.
"Act yes, but certainly not shout.
This is how I see the situation, gentlemen.
Once Ippolit Matveyevich has spoken, his words are sacred.
And we must assume we haven't long to wait.
How it will all take place, we don't need to know; there are military people to take care of that.
We are the civilian contingent- representatives of the town intelligentsia and merchants.
What's important for us?
To be ready.
Do we have anything?
Do we have a centre?
No.
Who will be governor of the town?
There's no one.
But that's the main thing, gentlemen.