“Well, go on, where's the joke?” repeated papa, still dense to the merits of the pun, but beaming more and more with benevolent desire to see it.
“Oh, papa, how stupid you are not to see it. Why ‘gals’ and ‘galaxy,’ don't you see?—he says there's quite a gal-axy of gals!”
“Oh! oh!” guffawed the old gentleman, “Ha-ha! Well, we'll hope he'll make a better one next time, that's all.”
“Pavel Pavlovitch can't acquire all the perfections at once,” said Maria Nikitishna. “Oh, my goodness! he's swallowed a bone—look!” she added, jumping up from her chair.
The alarm was general, and Maria's delight was great.
Poor Pavel Pavlovitch had only choked over a glass of wine, which he seized and drank to hide his confusion; but Maria declared that it was a fishbone—that she had seen it herself, and that people had been known to die of swallowing a bone just like that.
“Clap him on the back!” cried somebody.
It appeared that there were numerous kind friends ready to perform this friendly office, and poor Pavel protested in vain that it was nothing but a common choke. The belabouring went on until the coughing fit was over, and it became evident that mischievous Maria was at the bottom of it all.
After dinner old Mr. Zachlebnikoff retired for his post-prandial nap, bidding the young people enjoy themselves in the garden as best they might.
“You enjoy yourself, too!” he added to Pavel Pavlovitch, tapping the latter's shoulder affably as he went by.