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I belong to the P.P.S. We're not even revolutionary like the S.R.'s. 'I'm afraid I'm a great ignoramus, said David. 'I don't even know what all these letters stand for. Simon Rubensky looked pityingly as at a bourgeois. 'S.R.'s are the silly Social Revolutionists; I belong to the Polish Party of Socialism. 'Ah! said David, with an air of comprehension.
The unconditional historic necessity is for a land, but not for a particular land. Our Minsk members already call themselves S.T.'s Socialist Territorialists. 'But while awaiting your territory, there are the hooligans, David reminded him. 'Simon Rubensky thought you would be a good man for the self-defence corps. 'Join Rubensky! A P.P.S.! Never will I associate with a bourgeois like that!
You are a baptized police spy, posing as a P.P.S. I suppose he's heard of your visit to Herr Rubensky. 'But I shall undeceive him! 'Not if you want his money. Such a blow to his vanity would cost you dear. Go in; I did not tell him you were the young man he was telling me of. I must fly. The P. Z shook David's hand.
He hurried out on his scent, and ran him to earth in a cosy house near the town gate. Simon practised law, it appeared, and his surname was Rubensky. The young barrister, informed of his uncle's accusation of anarchism, laughed contemptuously. 'Bourgeois! Every idea that makes no money he calls anarchy. As a matter of fact, I'm the exact opposite of an anarchist: I'm a socialist.
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