ut you
out at the next station and to draw up a report on the incident!"

"This is revolting!" exclaims "the public," growing indignant.
"Persecuting an invalid! Listen, and have some consideration!"

"But the gentleman himself was abusive!" says Podtyagin, a little
scared. "Very well. . . . I won't take the ticket . . . as you like
. . . . Only, of course, as you know very well, it's my duty to do
so. . . . If it were not my duty, then, of course. . . You can ask
the station-master . . . ask anyone you like. . . ."

Podtyagin shrugs his shoulders and walks away from the invalid. At
first he feels aggrieved and somewhat injured, then, after passing
through two or three carriages, he begins to feel a certain uneasiness
not unlike the pricking of conscience in his ticket-collector's
bosom.

"There certainly was no need to wake the invalid," he thinks, "though
it was not my fault. . . .They imagine I did it wantonly, idly.
They don't know that I'm bound in duty . . . if they don't believe
it, I can bring the station-master to them." A station. The train
stops five minutes. Before the third bell, Podtyagin enters the
same second-class carriage. Behind him stalks the station-master
in a red cap.

"This gentleman here," Podtyagin begins, "declares that I have no
right to ask for his ticket and . . . and is offended at it. I ask
you, Mr. Station-master, to explain to him. . . . Do I ask for
tickets according to regulation or to please myself? Sir," Podtyagin
addresses the scraggy-looking man, "sir! you can ask the station-master
here if you don't believe me."

The invalid starts as though he had been stung, opens his eyes, and
with a woebegone face sinks back in his seat.

"My God! I have taken another powder and only just dozed off when
here he is again. . . again! I beseech you have some pity on me!"

"You can ask the station-master . . . whether I have the right to
demand your ticket or not."

"This is insufferable! Take your ticket. . . take it! I'll pay for
five extra if you'll only let me die in peace! Have you never been
ill yourself? Heartless people!"

"This is simply persecution!" A gentleman in military uniform grows
indignant. "I can see no other explanation of this persistence."

"Drop it . . ." says the station-master, frowning and pulling
Podtyagin by the sleeve.

Podtyagin shrugs his shoulders and slowly walks after the station-master.

"There's no pleasing them!" he thinks, bewildered. "It was