jerky, sullen answers without turning her
face.

"Help yourself, Danilo Semyonitch," the nurse urged him hospitably.
"Why do you keep on with tea and nothing but tea? You should have
a drop of vodka!"

And nurse put before the visitor a bottle of vodka and a wine-glass,
while her face wore a very wily expression.

"I never touch it. . . . No . . ." said the cabman, declining.
"Don't press me, Aksinya Stepanovna."

"What a man! . . . A cabman and not drink! . . . A bachelor can't
get on without drinking. Help yourself!"

The cabman looked askance at the bottle, then at nurse's wily face,
and his own face assumed an expression no less cunning, as much as
to say, "You won't catch me, you old witch!"

"I don't drink; please excuse me. Such a weakness does not do in
our calling. A man who works at a trade may drink, for he sits at
home, but we cabmen are always in view of the public. Aren't we?
If one goes into a pothouse one finds one's horse gone; if one takes
a drop too much it is worse still; before you know where you are
you will fall asleep or slip off the box. That's where it is."

"And how much do you make a day, Danilo Semyonitch?"

"That's according. One day you will have a fare for three roubles,
and another day you will come back to the yard without a farthing.
The days are very different. Nowadays our business is no good. There
are lots and lots of cabmen as you know, hay is dear, and folks are
paltry nowadays and always contriving to go by tram. And yet, thank
God, I have nothing to complain of. I have plenty to eat and good
clothes to wear, and . . . we could even provide well for another. . ."
(the cabman stole a glance at Pelageya) "if it were to their
liking. . . ."

Grisha did not hear what was said further. His mamma came to the
door and sent him to the nursery to learn his lessons.

"Go and learn your lesson. It's not your business to listen here!"

When Grisha reached the nursery, he put "My Own Book" in front of
him, but he did not get on with his reading. All that he had just
seen and heard aroused a multitude of questions in his mind.

"The cook's going to be married," he thought. "Strange--I don't
understand what people get married for. Mamma was married to papa,
Cousin Verotchka to Pavel Andreyitch. But one might be married to
papa and Pavel Andreyitch after all: they have gold watch-chains
and nice suits, their boots are always polished; but to marry that
dreadful cabman with a re