“You go on like a fool about that gun of yours, Ivan Nikiforovitch,” said Ivan Ivanovitch with vexation; for he was beginning to be really angry.
“And you, Ivan Ivanovitch, are a regular goose!”
If Ivan Nikiforovitch had not uttered that word they would not have quarrelled, but would have parted friends as usual; but now things took quite another turn. Ivan Ivanovitch flew into a rage.
“What was that you said, Ivan Nikiforovitch?” he said, raising his voice.
“I said you were like a goose, Ivan Ivanovitch!”
“How dare you, sir, forgetful of decency and the respect due to a man’s rank and family, insult him with such a disgraceful name!”
“What is there disgraceful about it? And why are you flourishing your hands so, Ivan Ivanovitch?”
“How dared you, I repeat, in disregard of all decency, call me a goose?”
“I spit on your head, Ivan Ivanovitch! What are you screeching about?”
Ivan Ivanovitch could no longer control himself. His lips quivered; his mouth lost its usual V shape, and became like the letter O; he glared so that he was terrible to look at. This very rarely happened with Ivan Ivanovitch: it was necessary that he should be extremely angry at first.