h him.
You must excuse me, but I shall swear at him like a cabman."

At last a ring is heard. The man of learning makes a grave face;
drawing himself up, and, throwing back his head, he goes into the
entry. There his amanuensis Ivan Matveyitch, a young man of eighteen,
with a face oval as an egg and no moustache, wearing a shabby, mangy
overcoat and no goloshes, is already standing by the hatstand. He
is in breathless haste, and scrupulously wipes his huge clumsy boots
on the doormat, trying as he does so to conceal from the maidservant
a hole in his boot through which a white sock is peeping. Seeing
the man of learning he smiles with that broad, prolonged, somewhat
foolish smile which is seen only on the faces of children or very
good-natured people.

"Ah, good evening!" he says, holding out a big wet hand. "Has your
sore throat gone?"

"Ivan Matveyitch," says the man of learning in a shaking voice,
stepping back and clasping his hands together. "Ivan Matveyitch."

Then he dashes up to the amanuensis, clutches him by the shoulders,
and begins feebly shaking him.

"What a way to treat me!" he says with despair in his voice. "You
dreadful, horrid fellow, what a way to treat me! Are you laughing
at me, are you jeering at me? Eh?"

Judging from the smile which still lingered on his face Ivan
Matveyitch had expected a very different reception, and so, seeing
the man of learning's countenance eloquent of indignation, his oval
face grows longer than ever, and he opens his mouth in amazement.

"What is . . . what is it?" he asks.

"And you ask that?" the man of learning clasps his hands. "You know
how precious time is to me, and you are so late. You are two hours
late! . . . Have you no fear of God?"

"I haven't come straight from home," mutters Ivan Matveyitch, untying
his scarf irresolutely. "I have been at my aunt's name-day party,
and my aunt lives five miles away. . . . If I had come straight
from home, then it would have been a different thing."

"Come, reflect, Ivan Matveyitch, is there any logic in your conduct?
Here you have work to do, work at a fixed time, and you go flying
off after name-day parties and aunts! But do make haste and undo
your wretched scarf! It's beyond endurance, really!"

The man of learning dashes up to the amanuensis again and helps him
to disentangle his scarf.

"You are done up like a peasant woman, . . . Come along, . . .
Please make haste!"

Blowing his nose in a dirty, cru