“Ah, yes, to the captive. Oh-h-h! That’s what frivolity leads to!”
When I reached the Passage it was about nine o’clock, and I had to enter the crocodile-room by the back door; for the German had shut up his place earlier than usual. He was walking about at his ease in a greasy old coat, and was evidently three times more self-satisfied even than in the morning. It was plain that he was troubled with no fears, and that “bery mush publikum” had come. “Mutter” came out, too, evidently for the purpose of keeping a watch upon me. She and her son often whispered together. Although the premises were shut up, the German took twenty-five kopecks as entrance-fee from me. That seems to me an excess of accuracy!
“You vill pay ebery time; ze publikum vill pay von rouble, and you vill pay twenti-fife kopeck, vy for you are von goot friend ob your goot friend, and I honour ze friend.”
“Is he alive? Is my learned friend alive?” I cried, loudly, approaching the crocodile.
“Alive and well,” he answered, as if from the far distance; “but of that afterwards. What news?”
Pretending not to hear the question, I began hastily and with sympathy to put questions in my turn. I asked him how he was, how he got on in the crocodile, and what the inside of a crocodile is like. But he interrupted me irritably.
“What news?” he shouted, in his squeaky voice, which sounded now peculiarly unpleasant.
I related to him all my conversation with Timofèy Semyònych, to the minutest detail. In relating it, I tried to express that I was somewhat hurt.
“The old man is right,” said Ivan Matvyèich; “I like practical people, and can’t bear sentimental milksops. Sit down anywhere—on the floor if you like—and listen to me: