“Yes,” he went on fiercely, “and side by side with these people I can quote you hundreds of all sorts of singers, acrobats, buffoons, whose names are known to every baby. Yes!”

The door creaked, there was a draught, and an individual of forbidding aspect, wearing an Inverness coat, a top-hat, and blue spectacles, walked into the carriage. The individual looked round at the seats, frowned, and went on further.

“Do you know who that is?” there came a timid whisper from the furthest corner of the compartment.

“That is N. N. , the famous Tula cardsharper who was had up in connection with the Y⁠⸺ bank affair.”

“There you are!” laughed the first-class passenger. “He knows a Tula cardsharper, but ask him whether he knows Semiradsky, Tchaykovsky, or Solovyov the philosopher⁠—he’ll shake his head.⁠ ⁠… It swinish!”

Three minutes passed in silence.

“Allow me in my turn to ask you a question,” said the vis-à-vis timidly, clearing his throat. “Do you know the name of Pushkov?”

“Pushkov? H’m! Pushkov.⁠ ⁠… No, I don’t know it!”

“That is my name,⁠ ⁠…” said the vis-à-vis, overcome with embarrassment. “Then you don’t know it? And yet I have been a professor at one of the Russian universities for thirty-five years,⁠ ⁠… a member of the Academy of Sciences,⁠ ⁠… have published more than one work.⁠ ⁠…”

The first-class passenger and the vis-à-vis looked at each other and burst out laughing.