“I mean, your sa-a-lary?”
“Why are you cross-examining me?” However, I told him at once what my salary was. I turned horribly red.
“It is not very handsome,” Zverkov observed majestically.
“Yes, you can’t afford to dine at cafés on that,” Ferfitchkin added insolently.
“To my thinking it’s very poor,” Trudolyubov observed gravely.
“And how thin you have grown! How you have changed!” added Zverkov, with a shade of venom in his voice, scanning me and my attire with a sort of insolent compassion.
“Oh, spare his blushes,” cried Ferfitchkin, sniggering.
“My dear sir, allow me to tell you I am not blushing,” I broke out at last; “do you hear? I am dining here, at this cafe, at my own expense, not at other people’s—note that, Mr. Ferfitchkin.”
“Wha-at? Isn’t every one here dining at his own expense? You would seem to be ...” Ferfitchkin flew out at me, turning as red as a lobster, and looking me in the face with fury.
“Tha-at,” I answered, feeling I had gone too far, “and I imagine it would be better to talk of something more intelligent.”