Fyodor Dostoevsky

"or simply asked for dinner without waiting for us."

"You will allow that I might have done that without your permission,"

I rapped out. "If I waited, it was ..."

"Let us sit down, gentlemen," cried Simonov, coming in. "Everything

is ready; I can answer for the champagne; it is capitally frozen .... You

see, I did not know your address, where was I to look for you?" he

suddenly turned to me, but again he seemed to avoid looking at me.

Evidently he had something against me. It must have been what

happened yesterday.

All sat down; I did the same. It was a round table. Trudolyubov was on

my left, Simonov on my right, Zverkov was sitting opposite, Ferfitchkin

next to him, between him and Trudolyubov.

"Tell me, are you ... in a government office?" Zverkov went on

attending to me. Seeing that I was embarrassed he seriously thought that

he ought to be friendly to me, and, so to speak, cheer me up.

"Does he want me to throw a bottle at his head?" I thought, in a fury.

In my novel surroundings I was unnaturally ready to be irritated.

"In the N--- office," I answered jerkily, with my eyes on my plate.

"And ha-ave you a go-od berth? I say, what ma-a-de you leave your

original job?"

"What ma-a-de me was that I wanted to leave my original job," I

drawled more than he, hardly able to control myself. Ferfitchkin went off

into a guffaw. Simonov looked at me ironically. Trudolyubov left off

eating and began looking at me with curiosity.

Zverkov winced, but he tried not to notice it.

"And the remuneration?"

"What remuneration?"

"I mean, your sa-a-lary?"

"Why are you cross-examining me?" However, I told him at once what

my salary was. I turned horribly red.

"It is not very handsome," Zverkov observed majestically.

"Yes, you can't afford to dine at cafes on that," Ferfitchkin

added insolently.

"To my thinking it's very poor," Trudolyubov observed gravely.

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