LITMIR.BIZ

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      After standing for some time in the yard, our hero tried to decide on some course of action. but he was apparently not destined to reach a decision. Mr. Golyadkin changed his mind, and with a wave of his hand went back into the street.

      “No, there’s no need for me to go today. What could I do here? … No, I’d better, so to speak … I’ll investigate the matter personally.”

      Coming to this conclusion, Mr. Golyadkin rushed off to his office. He had a long way to go. It was horribly muddy, besides, and the wet snow lay about in thick drifts. But it seemed as though difficulty did not exist for our hero at the moment. He was drenched through, it is true, and he was a ood deal spattered with mud.

      “But that’s no matter, so long as the object is obtained.”

      And Mr. Golyadkin certainly was nearing his goal. The dark mass of the huge government building stood up black before his eyes.

      “Stay,” he thought; “where am I going, and what am I going to do here? Suppose I do find out where he lives? Meanwhile, Petrushka will certainly have come back and brought me the answer. I am only wasting my precious time, I am simply wasting my time. Though shouldn’t I, perhaps, go in and see Vahramyev? But, no, I’ll go later… . Ech! There was no need to have gone out at all. But, there, it’s my temperament! I’ve a knack of always seizing a chance of rushing ahead of things, whether there is a need to or not…

      . H’m! … what time is it? It must be nine by now. Petrushka might come and not find me at home. It was pure folly on my part to go out… Ech, it is really a nuisance!”

      Sincerely acknowledging that he had been guilty of an act of folly, our hero ran back to Shestilavotchny Street. He arrived there, weary and exhausted. From the porter he learned that Petrushka has not dreamed of turning up yet.

      “To be sure! I foresaw it would be so,” thought our hero; and meanwhile it’s nine o’clock. Ech, he’s such a good-for-nothing chap! He’s always drinking somewhere! Mercy on us! What a day had fallen to my miserable lot!”

      Reflecting in this way, Mr. Golyadkin unlocked his flat, got a light, took off his outdoor things, lighted his pipe and, tired, worn-out, exhausted and hungry, lay down on the sofa and waited for Petrushka. The candle burnt dimly; the light flickered on the wall… . Mr. Golyadkin gazed and gazed, and thought and thought, and fell asleep at last, worn out.

      It was late when he woke up. The candle had almost burnt down, was smoking and on the point of going out. Mr. Golyadkin jumped up, shook himself, and remembered it all, absolutely all. behind the screen he heard Petrushka snoring lustily. Mr. Golyadkin rushed to the window - not a light anywhere. he opened the movable pane - all was still; the city was asleep as though it were dead: so it must have been two or three o’clock; so it proved to be, indeed; the clock behind the partition made an effort and struck two. Mr. Golyadkin rushed behind the partition.

      He succeeded, somehow, though only after great exertions, in rousing Petrushka, and making him sit up in his bed. At that moment the candle went out completely. About ten minutes passed before Mr. Golyadkin succeeded in finding another candle and lighting it. In the interval Petrushka had fallen asleep again.

      “You scoundrel, you worthless fellow!” said Mr. Golyadkin, shaking him up again. “Will you get up, will you wake?” After half an hour of effort Mr. Golyadkin succeeded, however, in rousing his servant thoroughly, and dragging him out from behind the partition. Only then, our hero remarked the fact that Petrushka was what is called dead-drunk and could hardly stand on his legs.

      “You good-for-nothing fellow!” cried Mr. Golyadkin; “you ruffian! You’ll be the death of me! Good heavens! whatever has he done with the letter? Ach, my God! where is it? … And why did I write it? As though there were any need for me to have written it! I went scribbling away out of pride, like a noodle! I’ve got myself into this fix out of pride! That is what dignity does for you, you rascal, that is dignity! … Come, what have you done with the letter, you ruffian? To whom did you give it?”

      “I didn’t give any one any letter; and I never had any letter … so there!”

      Mr. Golyadkin wrung his hands in despair.

      “Listen, Pyotr … listen to me, listen to me …”

      “I am listening …”

      “Where have you been? - answer …”

      “Where have I been … I’ve been to see good people! What is it to me!”

      “Oh, Lord, have mercy on us! Where did you go, to begin with? Did you go to the department? … Listen, Pyotr, perhaps you’re drunk?”

      “Me drunk! If I should be struck on the spot this minute, not a drop, not a drop - so there… .”

      “No, no, it’s no matter you’re being drunk… . I only asked; it’s all right your being drunk; I don’t mind, Petrushka, I don’t mind… . Perhaps it’s only that you have forgotten, but you’ll remember it all. Come, try to remember - have you been to that clerk’s, to Vahramyev’s; have you been to him or not?”

      “I have not been, and there’s no such clerk. Not if I were this minute …”

      “No, no, Pyotr! No, Petrushka, you know I don’t mind. Why, you see I don’t mind… . Come, what happened? To be sure, it’s cold and damp in the street, and so a man has a drop, and it’s no matter. I am not angry. I’ve been drinking myself today, my boy… . Come, think and try and remember, did you go to Vahramyev?”

      “Well, then, now, this is how it was, it’s the truth - I did go, if this very minute …”

      “Come, that is right, Petrushka, that is quite right that you’ve been. you see I’m not angry… . Come, come,” our hero went on, coaxing his servant more and more, patting him on the shoulder and smiling to him, “come, you had a little nip, you scoundrel… . You had two-penn’orth of something I suppose? You’re a sly rogue! Well, that’s no matter; come, you see that I’m not angry … . I’m not angry, my boy, I’m not angry… .”

      “No, I’m not a sly rogue, say what you like… . I only went to see some good friends. I’m not a rogue, and I never have been a rogue… .”

      “Oh, no, no, Petrushka; listen, Petrushka, you know I’m not scolding when I called you a rogue. I said that in fun, I said it in a good sense. You see, Petrushka, it is sometimes a compliment to a man when you call him a rogue, a cunning fellow, that he’s a sharp chap and would not let any one take him in. Some men like it … Come, come, it doesn’t matter! Come, tell me, Petrushka, without keeping anything back, openly, as to a friend … did you go to Vahramyev’s, and did he give you the address?”

      “He did give me the address, he did give me the address too. He’s a nice gentleman! ‘You master,’ says he, ‘is a nice man,’ says he, ‘very nice man;’ says he, ‘I send my regards,’ says he, ‘to your master, thank him and say that I like him,’ says he - ‘how I do respect your master,’ says he. ‘Because,’ says he, ‘your master, Petrushka,’ says he, ‘is a good man, and you,’ says he, ‘Petrushka, are a good man too … .’”

      “Ah, mercy on us! But the address, the address! You Judas!” The last word Mr. Golyadkin uttered almost in a whisper.

      “And the address … he did give the address too.”

      “He did? Well, where does Golyadkin, the clerk Golyadkin, the titular councillor, live?”

      “‘Why,’ says he, ‘Golyadkin will be now at Shestilavotchny Street. When you get into Shestilavotchny Street take the stairs on the right and it’s on the fourth floor. And there,’ says he, ‘you’ll find Golyadkin… .”

      “You scoundrel!” our hero cried, out of patience at last. “You’re a ruffian! Why, that’s my address; why, you are talking about me. But there’s another Golyadkin; I’m talking about the other one, you scoundrel!”

      “Well,

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