for his
sake I brought the station-master, that he might understand and be
pacified, and he . . . swears!"

Another station. The train stops ten minutes. Before the second
bell, while Podtyagin is standing at the refreshment bar, drinking
seltzer water, two gentlemen go up to him, one in the uniform of
an engineer, and the other in a military overcoat.

"Look here, ticket-collector!" the engineer begins, addressing
Podtyagin. "Your behaviour to that invalid passenger has revolted
all who witnessed it. My name is Puzitsky; I am an engineer, and
this gentleman is a colonel. If you do not apologize to the passenger,
we shall make a complaint to the traffic manager, who is a friend
of ours."

"Gentlemen! Why of course I . . . why of course you . . ." Podtyagin
is panic-stricken.

"We don't want explanations. But we warn you, if you don't apologize,
we shall see justice done to him."

"Certainly I . . . I'll apologize, of course. . . To be sure. . . ."

Half an hour later, Podtyagin having thought of an apologetic phrase
which would satisfy the passenger without lowering his own dignity,
walks into the carriage. "Sir," he addresses the invalid. "Listen,
sir. . . ."

The invalid starts and leaps up: "What?"

"I . . . what was it? . . . You mustn't be offended. . . ."

"Och! Water . . ." gasps the invalid, clutching at his heart. "I'd
just taken a third dose of morphia, dropped asleep, and . . . again!
Good God! when will this torture cease!"

"I only . . . you must excuse . . ."

"Oh! . . . Put me out at the next station! I can't stand any more
. . . . I . . . I am dying. . . ."

"This is mean, disgusting!" cry the "public," revolted. "Go away!
You shall pay for such persecution. Get away!"

Podtyagin waves his hand in despair, sighs, and walks out of the
carriage. He goes to the attendants' compartment, sits down at the
table, exhausted, and complains:

"Oh, the public! There's no satisfying them! It's no use working
and doing one's best! One's driven to drinking and cursing it all
. . . . If you do nothing--they're angry; if you begin doing your
duty, they're angry too. There's nothing for it but drink!"

Podtyagin empties a bottle straight off and thinks no more of work,
duty, and honesty!

A TRIPPING TONGUE

NATALYA MIHALOVNA, a young married lady who had arrived in the
morning from Yalta, was having her dinner, and in a never-ceasing
flow of babble was telling her husband of all the charms of t