“Been gorging? Ah, the old woman! The sweet darling. He has been stuffing himself, and now he doesn’t know what to do with his tummy! Get out of my sight, you confounded fellow! Plague take you!”

The native looks sourly at him, and merely twiddles his fingers instead of answering. A schoolboy of his acquaintance passes by him with his satchel on his back. Stopping him the native ponders a long time what to say to him, and asks:

“Well, what now?”

“Nothing.”

“How, nothing?”

“Why, just nothing.”

“H’m.⁠ ⁠… And which subject is the hardest?”

“That’s according.” The schoolboy shrugs his shoulders.

“I see⁠—er⁠ ⁠… What is the Latin for tree?”

“ Arbor. ”

“Aha.⁠ ⁠… And so one has to know all that,” sighs the blue trousers. “You have to go into it all.⁠ ⁠… It’s hard work, hard work.⁠ ⁠… Is your dear Mamma well?”

“She is all right, thank you.”

“Ah.⁠ ⁠… Well, run along.”

After losing two roubles Finks remembers the high school and is horrified.

“Holy Saints, why it’s three o’clock already. How I have been staying on. Goodbye, I must run.⁠ ⁠…”

“Have dinner with me, and then go,” says Lyashkevsky. “You have plenty of time.”