Although he has so much business on his hands, he still keeps his position of government doctor at Dialij. His acquisitiveness is too strong, and he wants to find time for everything. He is simply called “Ionitch” now, both in Dialij and in the city. “Where is Ionitch going?” the people ask, or “Shall we call in Ionitch to the consultation?”
His voice has changed and has become squeaky and harsh, probably because his throat is obstructed with fat. His character, too, has changed and he has grown irascible and crusty. He generally loses his temper with his patients and irritably thumps the floor with his stick, exclaiming in his unpleasant voice:
“Be good enough to confine yourself to answering my questions! No conversation!”
He is lonely, he is bored, and nothing interests him.
During all his life in Dialij his love for Kitty had been his only happiness, and will probably be his last. In the evening he plays cards in the club, and then sits alone at a large table and has supper. Ivan, the oldest and most respectable of the waiters, waits upon him and pours out his glass of Lafitte No. 17. Every one at the club, the officers and the chef and the waiters, all know what he likes and what he doesn’t like and strive with might and main to please him, for if they don’t he will suddenly grow angry and begin thumping the floor with his cane.
After supper he occasionally relents and takes part in a conversation.
“What were you saying? What? Whom did you say?”
And if the conversation at a neighbouring table turns on the Turkins, he asks:
“Which Turkins do you mean? The ones whose daughter plays the piano?”
That is all that can be said of Startseff.