e a dose of this castor-oil. It's
the real thing. That's right! I hope it will do you good. Well,
now, good-bye. . . ."

Rigoletto took his parcel and withdrew, pleased that he had been
of assistance to a fellow-creature.

The next morning Sigaev, the comic man, going in to see Shtchiptsov,
found him in a terrible condition. He was lying under his coat,
breathing in gasps, while his eyes strayed over the ceiling. In his
hands he was crushing convulsively the crumpled quilt.

"To Vyazma!" he whispered, when he saw the comic man. "To Vyazma."

"Come, I don't like that, old man!" said the comic man, flinging
up his hands. "You see . . . you see . . . you see, old man, that's
not the thing! Excuse me, but . . . it's positively stupid. . . ."

"To go to Vyazma! My God, to Vyazma!"

"I . . . I did not expect it of you," the comic man muttered, utterly
distracted. "What the deuce do you want to collapse like this for?
Aie . . . aie . . . aie! . . . that's not the thing. A giant as
tall as a watch-tower, and crying. Is it the thing for actors to
cry?"

"No wife nor children," muttered Shtchiptsov. "I ought not to have
gone for an actor, but have stayed at Vyazma. My life has been
wasted, Semyon! Oh, to be in Vyazma!"

"Aie . . . aie . . . aie! . . . that's not the thing! You see, it's
stupid . . . contemptible indeed!"

Recovering his composure and setting his feelings in order, Sigaev
began comforting Shtchiptsov, telling him untruly that his comrades
had decided to send him to the Crimea at their expense, and so on,
but the sick man did not listen and kept muttering about Vyazma
. . . . At last, with a wave of his hand, the comic man began talking
about Vyazma himself to comfort the invalid.

"It's a fine town," he said soothingly, "a capital town, old man!
It's famous for its cakes. The cakes are classical, but--between
ourselves--h'm!--they are a bit groggy. For a whole week after
eating them I was . . . h'm! . . . But what is fine there is the
merchants! They are something like merchants. When they treat you
they do treat you!"

The comic man talked while Shtchiptsov listened in silence and
nodded his head approvingly.

Towards evening he died.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Horse-Stealers and Other Stories
by Anton Chekhov

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HORSE-STEALERS AND OTHER ***

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