The lash so infuriated him that he dashed away to the railing (for some unknown reason he had been walking in the very middle of the bridge in the traffic).

He angrily clenched and ground his teeth.
He heard laughter, of course.
"Serves him right!" "A pickpocket I dare say." "Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and getting under the wheels on purpose; and you have to answer for him." "It's a regular profession, that's what it is." But while he stood at the railing, still looking angry and bewildered after the retreating carriage, and rubbing his back, he suddenly felt someone thrust money into his hand.

He looked.

It was an elderly woman in a kerchief and goatskin shoes, with a girl, probably her daughter wearing a hat, and carrying a green parasol.
"Take it, my good man, in Christ's name." He took it and they passed on.

It was a piece of twenty copecks.