“Ah, ah, ah! How do you do, Mr. Screw!” I yawned, when I saw him bending over the washstand. “What an age we haven't met!”
The whole district knew the doctor by the name of “Screw” from the habit he had of constantly screwing up his eyes. I, too, called him by that nickname. Seeing that I was awake, Voznesensky came and sat down on a corner of my bed and at once took up a box of matches and lifted it close to his screwed-up eyes.
“Only lazy people and those with clear consciences sleep in that way,” he said, “and as you are neither the one nor the other, it would be more seemly for you, my friend, to get up somewhat earlier.…”
“What o'clock is it?”
“Almost eleven.”
“The devil take you, Screwy! Nobody asked you to wake me so early. Do you know, I only got to sleep at past five to-day, and if not for you I would have slept on till evening.”
“Indeed!” I heard Polycarp's bass voice say in the next room. “He hasn't slept long enough yet! It's the second day he's sleeping, and it's still too little for him! Do you know what day it is?” Polycarp asked, coming into the bedroom and looking at me in the way clever people look at fools.
“Wednesday,” I said.
“Of course, certainly! It's been specially arranged for you that the week shall have two Wednesdays.…”
“To-day's Thursday!” the doctor said. “So, my good fellow, you've been pleased to sleep through the whole of Wednesday. Fine! Very fine! Allow me to ask you how much you drank?”