“‘I don’t understand,’ he used to say to us, shrugging his shoulders—­’I don’t understand how you can put up with that sneak, that nasty phiz.  Ugh! how can you live here!  The atmosphere is stifling and unclean!  Do you call yourselves schoolmasters, teachers?  You are paltry government clerks.  You keep, not a temple of science, but a department for red tape and loyal behaviour, and it smells as sour as a police-station.  No, my friends; I will stay with you for a while, and then I will go to my farm and there catch crabs and teach the Little Russians.  I shall go, and you can stay here with your Judas—­damn his soul!’

“Or he would laugh till he cried, first in a loud bass, then in a shrill, thin laugh, and ask me, waving his hands: 

“‘What does he sit here for?  What does he want?  He sits and stares.’

“He even gave Byelikov a nickname, ‘The Spider.’  And it will readily be understood that we avoided talking to him of his sister’s being about to marry ‘The Spider.’

“And on one occasion, when the headmaster’s wife hinted to him what a good thing it would be to secure his sister’s future with such a reliable, universally respected man as Byelikov, he frowned and muttered: 

“’It’s not my business; let her marry a reptile if she likes.  I don’t like meddling in other people’s affairs.’

“Now hear what happened next.  Some mischievous person drew a caricature of Byelikov walking along in his goloshes with his trousers tucked up, under his umbrella, with Varinka on his arm; below, the inscription ‘Anthropos in love.’  The expression was caught to a marvel, you know.  The artist must have worked for more than one night, for the teachers of both the boys’ and girls’ high-schools, the teachers of the seminary, the government officials, all received a copy.  Byelikov received one, too.  The caricature made a very painful impression on him.

“We went out together; it was the first of May, a Sunday, and all of us, the boys and the teachers, had agreed to meet at the high-school and then to go for a walk together to a wood beyond the town.  We set off, and he was green in the face and gloomier than a storm-cloud.

“‘What wicked, ill-natured people there are!’ he said, and his lips quivered.

“I felt really sorry for him.  We were walking along, and all of a sudden—­would you believe it?—­Kovalenko came bowling along on a bicycle, and after him, also on a bicycle, Varinka, flushed and exhausted, but good-humoured and gay.

“‘We are going on ahead,’ she called.  ’What lovely weather!  Awfully lovely!’

“And they both disappeared from our sight.  Byelikov turned white instead of green, and seemed petrified.  He stopped short and stared at me....

“‘What is the meaning of it?  Tell me, please!’ he asked.  ’Can my eyes have deceived me?  Is it the proper thing for high-school masters and ladies to ride bicycles?’

“‘What is there improper about it?’ I said.  ’Let them ride and enjoy themselves.’