"You ... you ... you stupid!" muttered Semyon Ivanovitch, "if your nose were cut off you would eat it up with a bit of bread and not notice it."
"I may be a dandy," shouted Mark Ivanovitch, not listening; "I may be a regular dandy, but I have not to pass an examination to get married—to learn dancing; the ground is firm under me, sir. Why, my good man, haven't you room enough? Is the floor giving way under your feet, or what?"
"Well, they won't ask you, will they? They'll shut one up and that will be the end of it?"
"The end of it? That's what's up? What's your idea now, eh?"
"Why, they kicked out the drunken cadger."
"Yes; but you see that was a drunkard, and you are a man, and so am I."
"Yes, I am a man. It's there all right one day and then it's gone."
"Gone! But what do you mean by it?"
"Why, the office! The off—off—ice!"
"Yes, you blessed man, but of course the office is wanted and necessary."