colleagues had begun to eat and drink without waiting for him. He
noticed among them Lyapunov, the man who had dictated at the
examination, and going up to him, began:

"It was not acting like a comrade! No, indeed! Gentlemanly people
don't dictate like that!"

"Good Lord, you are still harping on it!" said Lyapunov, and he
frowned. "Aren't you sick of it?"

"Yes, still harping on it! My Babkin has never made mistakes! I
know why you dictated like that. You simply wanted my pupils to be
floored, so that your school might seem better than mine. I know
all about it! . . ."

"Why are you trying to get up a quarrel?" Lyapunov snarled. "Why
the devil do you pester me?"

"Come, gentlemen," interposed the inspector, making a woebegone
face. "Is it worth while to get so heated over a trifle? Three
mistakes . . . not one mistake . . . does it matter?"

"Yes, it does matter. Babkin has never made mistakes."

"He won't leave off," Lyapunov went on, snorting angrily. "He takes
advantage of his position as an invalid and worries us all to death.
Well, sir, I am not going to consider your being ill."

"Let my illness alone!" cried Sysoev, angrily. "What is it to do
with you? They all keep repeating it at me: illness! illness!