corner of a
towel.

Bazarov once even pulled out a tooth for a passing pedlar of cloth; and
though this tooth was an average specimen, Vassily Ivanovitch preserved
it as a curiosity, and incessantly repeated, as he showed it to Father
Alexey, 'Just look, what a fang! The force Yevgeny has! The pedlar
seemed to leap into the air. If it had been an oak, he'd have rooted it
up!'

'Most promising!' Father Alexey would comment at last, not knowing what
answer to make, and how to get rid of the ecstatic old man.

One day a peasant from a neighbouring village brought his brother to
Vassily Ivanovitch, ill with typhus. The unhappy man, lying flat on a
truss of straw, was dying; his body was covered with dark patches, he
had long ago lost consciousness. Vassily Ivanovitch expressed his
regret that no one had taken steps to procure medical aid sooner, and
declared there was no hope. And, in fact, the peasant did not get his
brother home again; he died in the cart.

Three days later Bazarov came into his father's room and asked him if
he had any caustic.

'Yes; what do you want it for?'

'I must have some ... to burn a cut.'

'For whom?'

'For myself.'

'What, yourself? Why is that? What sort of a cut? Where is it?'

'Look here, on my finger. I went to-day to the village, you know, where
they brought that peasant with typhus fever. They were just going to
open the body for some reason or other, and I've had no practice of
that sort for a long while.'

'Well?'

'Well, so I asked the district doctor about it; and so I dissected it.'

Vassily Ivanovitch all at once turned quite white, and, without
uttering a word, rushed to his study, from which he returned at once
with a bit of caustic in his hand. Bazarov was about to take it and go
away.

'For mercy's sake,' said Vassily Ivanovitch, 'let me do it myself.'

Bazarov smiled. 'What a devoted practitioner!'

'Don't laugh, please. Show me your finger. The cut is not a large one.
Do I hurt?'

'Press harder; don't be afraid.'

Vassily Ivanovitch stopped. 'What do you think, Yevgeny; wouldn't it be
better to burn it with hot iron?'

'That ought to have been done sooner; the caustic even is useless,
really, now. If I've taken the infection, it's too late now.'

'How ... too late ...' Vassily Ivanovitch could scarcely articulate the
words.

'I should think so! It's more than four hours ago.'

Vassily Ivanovitch burnt the cut a little more. 'But had the distric