n scowled, muttered "Ah, well, if that's it!" waved his hand,
turned his huge back to the public and vanished with his escort. But a
minute later Liputin skipped on to the platform again. He was wearing
the sweetest of his invariable smiles, which usually suggested vinegar
and sugar, and carried in his hands a sheet of note-paper. With tiny but
rapid steps he came forward to the edge of the platform.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, addressing the public, "through our
inadvertency there has arisen a comical misunderstanding which has been
removed; but I've hopefully undertaken to do something at the earnest
and most respectful request of one of our local poets. Deeply touched by
the humane and lofty object... in spite of his appearance... the object
which has brought us all together... to wipe away the tears of the poor
but well-educated girls of our province... this gentleman, I mean this
local poet... although desirous of preserving his incognito, would
gladly have heard his poem read at the beginning of the ball... that is,
I mean, of the matinee. Though this poem is not in the programme...
for it has only been received half an hour ago.. . yet it has seemed to
_us_"--(Us? Whom did he mean by us? I report his confused and incoherent
speech word for word)--"that through its remarkable naivete of feeling,
together with its equally remarkable gaiety, the poem might well be
read, that is, not as something serious, but as something appropriate to
the occasion, that is to the idea... especially as some lines... And I
wanted to ask the kind permission of the audience."

"Read it!" boomed a voice at the back of the hall.

"Then I am to read it?"

"Read it, read it!" cried many voices.

"With the permission of the audience I will read it," Liputin minced
again, still with the same sugary smile. He still seemed to hesitate,
and I even thought that he was rather excited. These people are
sometimes nervous in spite of their impudence. A divinity student would
have carried it through without winking, but Liputin did, after all,
belong to the last generation.

"I must say, that is, I have the honour to say by way of preface, that
it is not precisely an ode such as used to be written for fetes, but is
rather, so to say, a jest, but full of undoubted feeling, together with
playful humour, and, so to say, the most realistic truthfulness."

"Read it, read it!"

He unfolded the paper. No one of course was in time to stop him.