to talk stupidly--that is, to
talk and talk and talk--to be in a tremendous hurry to explain things,
and in the end to get muddled in my own explanations, so that my
listener would walk away without hearing the end, with a shrug, or,
better still, with a curse. You succeed straight off in persuading them
of your simplicity, in boring them and in being incomprehensible--three
advantages all at once! Do you suppose anybody will suspect you of
mysterious designs after that? Why, every one of them would take it as
a personal affront if anyone were to say I had secret designs. And I
sometimes amuse them too, and that's priceless. Why, they're ready to
forgive me everything now, just because the clever fellow who used
to publish manifestoes out there turns out to be stupider than
themselves--that's so, isn't it? From your smile I see you approve."

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was not smiling at all, however.

On the contrary, he was listening with a frown and some impatience.

"Eh? What? I believe you said 'no matter.'"

Pyotr Stepanovitch rattled on. (Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had said nothing
at all.) "Of course, of course. I assure you I'm not here to compromise
you by my company, by claiming you as my comrade. But do you know you're
horribly captious to-day; I ran in to you with a light and open heart,
and you seem to be laying up every word I say against me. I assure you
I'm not going to begin about anything shocking to-day, I give you my
word, and I agree beforehand to all your conditions."

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was obstinately silent.

"Eh? What? Did you say something? I see, I see that I've made a blunder
again, it seems; you've not suggested conditions and you're not going
to; I believe you, I believe you; well, you can set your mind at rest;
I know, of course, that it's not worth while for me to suggest them, is
it? I'll answer for you beforehand, and--just from stupidity, of course;
stupidity again.... You're laughing? Eh? What?"

"Nothing," Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed at last. "I just remembered
that I really did call you stupid, but you weren't there then, so they
must have repeated it.... I would ask you to make haste and come to the
point."

"Why, but I am at the point! I am talking about Sunday," babbled Pyotr
Stepanovitch. "Why, what was I on Sunday? What would you call it? Just
fussy, mediocre stupidity, and in the stupidest way I took possession of
the conversation by force. But they forgave me ev