look for the wind in the fields!"

"Where does he live then?"

"Who can tell? He comes here every Tuesday, and where he lives I
don't know. He comes and stays the night, and then you may wait
till next Tuesday. . . ."

"There, do you see, you brute, what you have done? Why, what am I
to do now? It is time I was at Madame la Générale Shevelitsyn's,
you anathema! My feet are frozen!"

"You can change the boots before long. Put on these boots, go about
in them till the evening, and in the evening go to the theatre. . . .
Ask there for Blistanov, the actor. . . . If you don't care to
go to the theatre, you will have to wait till next Tuesday; he only
comes here on Tuesdays. . . ."

"But why are there two boots for the left foot?" asked the piano-tuner,
picking up the boots with an air of disgust.

"What God has sent him, that he wears. Through poverty . . . where
is an actor to get boots? I said to him 'What boots, Pavel Alexandritch!
They are a positive disgrace!' and he said: 'Hold your peace,' says
he, 'and turn pale! In those very boots,' says he, 'I have played
counts and princes.' A queer lot! Artists, that's the only word for
them! If I were the governor or anyone in command, I would get all
these actors together and clap them all in prison."

Continually sighing and groaning and knitting his brows, Murkin