“My God!” moans the scraggy-looking man, pulling a woebegone face. “Good Heavens! I’m suffering from rheumatism.⁠ ⁠… I haven’t slept for three nights! I’ve just taken morphia on purpose to get to sleep, and you⁠ ⁠… with your tickets! It’s merciless, it’s inhuman! If you knew how hard it is for me to sleep you wouldn’t disturb me for such nonsense.⁠ ⁠… It’s cruel, it’s absurd! And what do you want with my ticket! It’s positively stupid!”

Podtyagin considers whether to take offence or not⁠—and decides to take offence.

“Don’t shout here! This is not a tavern!”

“No, in a tavern people are more humane⁠ ⁠…” coughs the passenger. “Perhaps you’ll let me go to sleep another time! It’s extraordinary: I’ve travelled abroad, all over the place, and no one asked for my ticket there, but here you’re at it again and again, as though the devil were after you.⁠ ⁠…”

“Well, you’d better go abroad again since you like it so much.”

“It’s stupid, sir! Yes! As though it’s not enough killing the passengers with fumes and stuffiness and draughts, they want to strangle us with red tape, too, damn it all! He must have the ticket! My goodness, what zeal! If it were of any use to the company⁠—but half the passengers are travelling without a ticket!”

“Listen, sir!” cries Podtyagin, flaring up. “If you don’t leave off shouting and disturbing the public, I shall be obliged to put you out at the next station and to draw up a report on the incident!”

“This is revolting!” exclaims “the public,” growing indignant. “Persecuting an invalid! Listen, and have some consideration!”

“But the gentleman himself was abusive!” says Podtyagin, a little scared. “Very well.⁠ ⁠… I won’t take the ticket⁠ ⁠… as you like.⁠ ⁠… Only, of course, as you know very well, it’s my duty to do so.⁠ ⁠… If it were not my duty, then, of course⁠ ⁠… You can ask the stationmaster⁠ ⁠… ask anyone you like.⁠ ⁠…”