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Updated: May 19, 2025
"However, you do not spare the object of your observations," said Yarchenko, and carefully indicated the girls with his eyes. "Eh, it's all the same. Our relations are cool now." "How so?" asked Volodya Pavlov, who had caught the end of the conversation. "Just so ... It isn't even worth the telling..." smiled the reporter evasively. "A trifle ... Let's have your glass here, Mr. Yarchenko."
Mishka!" cried Niura piercingly, hanging herself on the neck of the lanky, big-nosed, solemn Petrovsky. "Hello, Mishenka. Why haven't you come for so long? I grew weary of waiting for you." Yarchenko with a feeling of awkwardness was looking about him on all sides.
"And what's there to talk so much about, fellows? Take the professor under the gills and put him in a cab!" The students, laughing and jostling, surrounded Yarchenko, seized him under the arms, caught him around the waist. All of them were equally drawn to the women, but none, save Lichonin, had enough courage to take the initiative upon himself.
And what did you mix the children in for, you miserable papa you! Don't you roll your eyes and gnash your teeth at me. You won't frighten me! W yourself!" It required many efforts and much eloquence on the part of Yarchenko in order to quiet the actor and Little White Manka, who always after Benedictine ached for a row.
"'I dreenk to the health of the luminary of Russian science, Gavrila Petrovich Yarchenko, whom I saw by chance when I was passing by through the collidor. Would like to clink glasses together personally. If you do not remember, recollect the National Theatre, Poverty Is No Disgrace, and the humble artist who played African. Yes, that's right," said Yarchenko.
"Ah, that's very nice," smiled Yarchenko charmingly, and for some reason once more pressed Platonov's hand vigorously. "I read your report afterwards: very exactly, circumstantially and skillfully put together ... Won't you favor me? ... To your health!" "Then allow me, too," said Platonov. "Onuphriy Zakharich, pour out for us again ... one ... two, three, four ... nine glasses of cognac..."
"What? What's it all about? Oh yes, is it all right to let the actor in? I've nothing against it. Please do ..." Yarchenko sent an invitation through Simeon, and the actor came and immediately commenced the usual actor's play.
"Oh, my God, what does it matter what we did when we were youngsters? We stole sugar, soiled our panties, tore the wings off beetles," Yarchenko began to speak, growing heated, and spluttering. "But there is a limit and a mean to all this. I, gentlemen, do not presume, of course, to give you counsels and to teach you, but one must be consistent.
But the sub-professor Yarchenko was obstinate and seemed really angered, although, perhaps, he himself did not know what was lurking within him, in some dark cranny of his soul. "Leave me in peace, Lichonin. As I see it, gentlemen, this is downright and plain swinishness that which you are about to do.
"And therefore, let's have a drink," said Uchonin, while Yarchenko asked with the refined amiability which never forsook him: "Pardon me, pardon me, but I am acquainted with you a little, even though not personally. Weren't you in the university when Professor Priklonsky defended the doctor's dissertation?" "It was I," answered the reporter.
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