bugs.

Moisey Moisevitch was at first dumb with excess of feeling on
recognizing the travellers, then he clasped his hands and uttered
a moan. His coat swung its skirts, his back bent into a bow, and
his pale face twisted into a smile that suggested that to see the
chaise was not merely a pleasure to him, but actually a joy so sweet
as to be painful.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" he began in a thin sing-song voice, breathless,
fussing about and preventing the travellers from getting out of the
chaise by his antics. "What a happy day for me! Oh, what am I to
do now? Ivan Ivanitch! Father Christopher! What a pretty little
gentleman sitting on the box, God strike me dead! Oh, my goodness!
why am I standing here instead of asking the visitors indoors?
Please walk in, I humbly beg you. . . . You are kindly welcome!
Give me all your things. . . . Oh, my goodness me!"

Moisey Moisevitch, who was rummaging in the chaise and assisting
the travellers to alight, suddenly turned back and shouted in a
voice as frantic and choking as though he were drowning and calling
for help:

"Solomon! Solomon!"

"Solomon! Solomon!" a woman's voice repeated indoors.

The swing-door creaked, and in the doorway appeared a rather short
young Jew with a big beak-like nose, with a bald patch surrounded
by rough red curly hair; he was dressed in a short and very shabby