“There’s no pleasing them!” he thinks, bewildered. “It was for his sake I brought the stationmaster, that he might understand and be pacified, and he⁠ ⁠… swears!”

Another station. The train stops ten minutes. Before the second bell, while Podtyagin is standing at the refreshment bar, drinking seltzer water, two gentlemen go up to him, one in the uniform of an engineer, and the other in a military overcoat.

“Look here, ticket-collector!” the engineer begins, addressing Podtyagin. “Your behaviour to that invalid passenger has revolted all who witnessed it. My name is Puzitsky; I am an engineer, and this gentleman is a colonel. If you do not apologize to the passenger, we shall make a complaint to the traffic manager, who is a friend of ours.”

“Gentlemen! Why of course I⁠ ⁠… why of course you⁠ ⁠…” Podtyagin is panic-stricken.

“We don’t want explanations. But we warn you, if you don’t apologize, we shall see justice done to him.”

“Certainly I⁠ ⁠… I’ll apologize, of course⁠ ⁠… To be sure.⁠ ⁠…”

Half an hour later, Podtyagin having thought of an apologetic phrase which would satisfy the passenger without lowering his own dignity, walks into the carriage. “Sir,” he addresses the invalid. “Listen, sir.⁠ ⁠…”

The invalid starts and leaps up: “What?”

“I⁠ ⁠… what was it?⁠ ⁠… You mustn’t be offended.⁠ ⁠…”

“Och! Water⁠ ⁠…” gasps the invalid, clutching at his heart. “I’d just taken a third dose of morphia, dropped asleep, and⁠ ⁠… again! Good God! when will this torture cease!”

“I only⁠ ⁠… you must excuse⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh!⁠ ⁠… Put me out at the next station! I can’t stand any more.⁠ ⁠… I⁠ ⁠… I am dying.⁠ ⁠…”