The whistle of the flute, the shrill singing of the clarionets, the heavy roaring of the basses, the ruffling of the little drum and the drones of the blows on the big one, all this fell on the monotonous and dull sounds of the wheels, as they cut the water apart, smote the air rebelliously, drowned the noise of the human voices and hovered after the steamer, like a hurricane, causing the people to shout at the top of their voices.

At times an angry hissing of steam rang out within the engine, and there was something irritable and contemptuous in this sound as it burst unexpectedly upon the chaos of the drones and roars and shouts.
"I shall never forget, even unto my grave, that you refused to discount the note for me," cried some one in a fierce voice.
"That will do! Is this a place for accounts ?" rang out Bobrov's bass.
"Brethren! Let us have some speeches!" "Musicians, bush!" "Come up to the bank and I'll explain to you why I didn't discount it." "A speech! Silence!" "Musicians, cease playing!" "Strike up 'In the Meadows.'" "Madame Angot!" "No! Yakov Tarasovich, we beg of you!" "That's called Strassburg pastry." "We beg of you! We beg of you!" "Pastry?
It doesn't look like it, but I'll taste it all the same." "Tarasovich! Start." "Brethren! It is jolly! By God." "And in 'La Belle Helene' she used to come out almost naked, my dear," suddenly Robustov's shrill and emotional voice broke through the noise.
"Look out! Jacob cheated Esau?
Aha!" "I can't! My tongue is not a hammer, and I am no longer young.
"Yasha! We all implore you!" "Do us the honour!" "We'll elect you mayor!" "Tarasovich! don't be capricious!" "Sh! Silence! Gentlemen! Yakov Tarasovich will say a few words!" "Sh!" And just at the moment the noise subsided some one's loud, indignant whisper was heard: "How she pinched me, the carrion." And Bobrov inquired in his deep basso: "Where did she pinch you ?" All burst into ringing laughter, but soon fell silent, for Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin, rising to his feet, cleared his throat, and, stroking his bald crown, surveyed the merchants with a serious look expecting attention.
"Well, brethren, open your ears!" shouted Kononov, with satisfaction.
"Gentlemen of the merchant class!" began Mayakin with a smile.

"There is a certain foreign word in the language of intelligent and learned people, and that word is 'culture.' So now I am going to talk to you about that word in all the simplicity of my soul." "So, that's where he is aiming to!" some ones satisfied exclamation was heard.
"Sh! Silence!" "Dear gentlemen!" said Mayakin, raising his voice, "in the newspapers they keep writing about us merchants, that we are not acquainted with this 'culture,' that we do not want it, and do not understand it.

And they call us savage, uncultured people.

What is culture?
It pains me, old man as I am, to hear such words, and one day I made it my business to look up that word, to see what it really contains." Mayakin became silent, surveyed the audience with his eyes, and went on distinctly, with a triumphant smile: "It proved, upon my researches, that this word means worship, that is, love, great love for business and order in life.