Afterwards he found himself carrying a heavy box in an unfamiliar street full of people. He could neither force his way through the dense crowd nor turn aside, and was obliged to move forward step by step, held up by the crowds of people in front of him and pushed by those behind him, bathed in sweat because of the weight of his load. If only he could put the box down for a moment and rest! But there wasn’t room for a pin. Why did he need such a big heavy box, he thought bitterly, a smaller and lighter one would have done just as well — as soon as he got away from this crowd, he would change it for another! The box was open, and Gurdweill was carrying it in front of him, the open end facing up. Suddenly he had a good idea: why should he keep all the newspapers in the box, especially since they were written in a foreign language he did not even know? If he could read them, at least, it might have been different. But as things were! No, he would get rid of them one by one, since the crush prevented him from overturning the box and getting rid of them all at once. And the box would gradually grow lighter. But now something amazing happened: no sooner had he thrown the newspapers out than they flew back into the box! They came flying from all directions, far more than he had thrown out, in their thousands and tens of thousands, falling straight into the box, and forcing Gurdweill to the ground as they fell. The box was already full, the newspapers were stacked high on top of it, and still they went on falling. There was no end to it.