ar displayed no special dissatisfaction or surprise at such an order
or such a reproach on his master's part, regarding both, so far as he
was concerned, as perfectly natural.

"But who knows where your handkerchief is?" he grumbled, circling about
the room and making a careful examination of every chair, although it
could be plainly seen that there was nothing whatever on them.

"It is a perfect waste of time," he remarked, opening the door into the
drawing-room in order to see if there was any sign of it there.

"Where are you going? Look for it here; I have not been in that room
since day before yesterday. And make haste," urged Ilya Ilyitch.

"Where is the handkerchief? There isn't any handkerchief," exclaimed
Zakhar rummaging and searching in every corner.

"Oh, there it is," he suddenly cried angrily, "under you. There is the
end of it sticking out. You were lying on it, and yet you ask me to find
your handkerchief for you!"

And Zakhar, without awaiting any reply, turned and started to go out.
Oblomof was somewhat ashamed of his own blunder. But he quickly
discovered another pretext for putting Zakhar in the wrong.

"What kind of neatness do you call this everywhere here! Look at the
dust and dirt! Good heavens! look here, look here! See these corners!
You don't do anything at all."

"And so I don't do anything," repeated Zakhar in a tone betokening deep
resentment. "I am growing old, I shan't live much longer! But God knows
I use the duster for the dust, and I sweep almost every day."

He pointed to the middle of the floor, and at the table where Oblomof
had dined. "Here, look here," he went on: "it has all been swept and all
put in order, fit for a wedding. What more is needed?"

"Well then, what is this?" cried Ilya Ilyitch, interrupting him and
calling his attention to the walls and the ceiling. "And that? and
that?"

He pointed to a yesterday's napkin which had been flung down, and to a
plate which had been left lying on the table with a dry crust of bread
on it.

"Well, as for that," said Zakhar as he picked up the plate, "I will take
care of it."

"You will take care of it, will you? But how about the dust and the
cobwebs on the walls?" said Oblomof, making ocular demonstration.

"I put that off till Holy Week; then I clean the sacred images and sweep
down the cobwebs."

"But how about dusting the books and pictures?"

"The books and pictures? Before Christmas; then Anisiya and I look ov