'"How much are these cakes?'
'"Two for a farthing.'
'Yegorushka took out of his pocket the cake given him the day before by the Jewess and asked him:—
'"And how much do you charge for cakes like this?'
'The shopman took the cake in his hands, looked at it from all sides, and raised one eyebrow.
'"Like that?' he asked.
'Then he raised the other eyebrow, thought a minute, and answered:—
'"Two for three farthings…."'
It is foolish to quote it. It is like a golden pebble from the bed of a stream. The stream that flows over Tchehov's innumerable pebbles, infinitely diverse and heterogeneous, is the stream of a deliberately sublimated quality. The figure is inexact, as figures are. Not every pebble could be thus transmuted. But how they are chosen, what is the real nature of the relation which unites them, as we feel it does, is a secret which modern English writers need to explore. Till they have explored and mastered it Tchehov will remain a master in advance of them.