The three then seated themselves at the table, and the Smokestack began to pour the tea. Yevsey from time to time stole a look at the guest. His face, shaven like the Smokestack's, was bluish with a huge thin-lipped mouth and dark eyes sunk in two hollows under a high smooth forehead. His head, bald to the crown, was angular and large. He kept drumming quietly on the table with his long fingers.
"Well, read," said the Smokestack.
"From the beginning?"
"Yes."
The hunch-back pulled out a package of papers from his coat-pocket and opened it. "I'll skip the titles. This is the way I've done it." He coughed, and half closing his eyes began to read. "'We people known to nobody and already arrived at a ripe age now fall slavishly at your feet with this distressing statement of grievances, which wells from the very depths of our hearts, our hearts shattered by life but not robbed of sacred faith in the grace and wisdom of Your Majesty.' Well, is it good?"
"Continue," said the Smokestack.
"'For you are the father of the Russian people, the source of good counsel, and the only power on earth capable—'"
"Better say, 'the only power on earth endowed with authority,'" suggested the Smokestack.
"Wait, wait. 'The only power capable of restoring and maintaining order, justice—' Here we must put in a third word for the sake of symmetry, but I don't know what word."
"Be more careful in your choice of words," said the Smokestack, sternly but not aloud. "Remember that they convey a different meaning to every man."