now, I was quite
frightened. 'Can our conversation have had such an effect on him?'
I wondered. My dear soul, I hope it's not through me you've fallen
ill! You know you gave me as good . . . er . . . And, besides,
comrades can never get on without words. You called me all sorts
of names . . . and have gone at me with your fists too, and yet I
am fond of you! Upon my soul, I am. I respect you and am fond of
you! Explain, my angel, why I am so fond of you. You are neither
kith nor kin nor wife, but as soon as I heard you had fallen ill
it cut me to the heart."

Zhukov spent a long time declaring his affection, then fell to
kissing the invalid, and finally was so overcome by his feelings
that he began laughing hysterically, and was even meaning to fall
into a swoon, but, probably remembering that he was not at home nor
at the theatre, put off the swoon to a more convenient opportunity
and went away.

Soon after him Adabashev, the tragic actor, a dingy, short-sighted
individual who talked through his nose, made his appearance. . . .
For a long while he looked at Shtchiptsov, for a long while he
pondered, and at last he made a discovery.

"Do you know what, Mifa?" he said, pronouncing through his nose "f"
instead of "sh," and assuming a mysterious expression. "Do you know
what? You ought to have a dose of castor-oil!"

Shtchiptsov was silent. He remained silent, too, a little later as
the tragic actor poured the loathsome oil into his mouth. Two hours
later Yevlampy, or, as the actors for some reason called him,
Rigoletto, the hairdresser of the company, came into the room. He
too, like the tragic man, stared at Shtchiptsov for a long time,
then sighed like a steam-engine, and slowly and deliberately began
untying a parcel he had brought with him. In it there were twenty
cups and several little flasks.

"You should have sent for me and I would have cupped you long ago,"
he said, tenderly baring Shtchiptsov's chest. "It is easy to neglect
illness."

Thereupon Rigoletto stroked the broad chest of the "heavy father"
and covered it all over with suction cups.

"Yes . . ." he said, as after this operation he packed up his
paraphernalia, crimson with Shtchiptsov's blood. "You should have
sent for me, and I would have come. . . . You needn't trouble about
payment. . . . I do it from sympathy. Where are you to get the money
if that idol won't pay you? Now, please take these drops. They are
nice drops! And now you must hav