frame. Kapiton merely screwed up his leaden eyes a little, but he did
not look down; he even grinned slightly, and passed his hand over his
whitish locks which were sticking up in all directions. "Well, here I
am. What is it?"

"You're a pretty fellow," said Gavrila, and paused. "A pretty fellow you
are, there's no denying!"

Kapiton only twitched his little shoulders. "Are you any better, pray?"
he thought to himself.

"Just look at yourself, now, look at yourself," Gavrila went on
reproachfully; "now, whatever do you look like?"

Kapiton serenely surveyed his shabby, tattered coat and his patched
trousers, and with special attention stared at his burst boots,
especially the one on the tiptoe of which his right foot so gracefully
poised, and he fixed his eyes again on the steward.

"Well?"

"Well?" repeated Gavrila. "Well? And then you say well? You look like
Old Nick himself, God forgive my saying so, that's what you look like."

Kapiton blinked rapidly.

"Go on abusing me, go on, if you like, Gavrila Andreitch," he thought to
himself again.

"Here you've been drunk again," Gavrila began, "drunk again, haven't