The clerk of the coun stopped staring so menacingly and fished around in his pocket for a handkerchief. Two more women were carried out. The judge forgot all about the bell and put on his glasses, so that no one would notice the large tear welling up in his right eye. Handkerchiefs appeared on every side. The deputy prosecutor, that rock, that iceberg, that most insensitive oforganisms, shifted about in his chair, turned red, and started gazing at the floor ... Tears were glistening behind his glasses.
'Why on eanh did I go ahead with the case?' he thought to himself. 'How am I ever going to live down a fiasco like this!'
just look at his eyes!' defence counsel continued (his chin was trembling, his voice was trembling, and his eyes showed how much his soul was suffering). 'Can those meek, tender eyes look upon a crime without tlinching? No, I tell you, those are the eyes of a man who weeps! There are scnsitive nerves concealed behind those Asia- tic cheekbones! And the heart that beats within that coarse, missha- pen breast - that heart is as honest as the day is long! Members of the jury, can you dare as human beings t<> say that this man is guilty?'
At this p>int the accused himself could bear it no longer. Now it was his turn to start crying. He blinked, burst into tears and began fidgeting restlessly . ..
'All right!' he blurted out, interrupting defence counsel. • All right! I am guilty! It was me done the burglary and the fraud. Miserable wretch that I am! I took the money from the trunk and got my sister-in-class="underline" iw to hide the fur coat. I confess! Guilty on all counts!'
Accused then made a detailed confession and was convicted.
Fat and Thin
Two friends bumped into each other at the Nikolayevsky railway station: one was fat, the other thin. The fat man had just dined in the station restaurant and his lips were still coated with grease and gleamed like ripe cherries. He smelt of sherry and (leurs d'oranger. The thin man had just got out of a carriage and was loaded down with suitcases, bundles and band-boxes. He smelt of boiled ham and coffee-grounds. Peeping out from behind his back was a lean woman with a long chin - his wife, and a lanky schoolboy with a drooping eyelid — his son.
'Porfiry!' excl;iimed the fat man, on seeing the thin. 'Is it you? My dear chap! I haven't seen you for ages!'
'Good Lord!' cried the thin in astonishment. 'It's Misha! My old schoolmate! Fancy meeting you here!'
The two friends kissed and hugged three times and stood gazing at each other with tears in their eyes. It was a pleasant shock for both of them.
'My dear old chap!' began Thin after they had finished kissing. 'Who would have guessed! Well what a surprise! Let's have a good look at you! Yes, as sman and handsome as ever! You always were a bit of a dandy, a bit of a lad, eh? Weil l never! And how are you? Rich? Married? I'm married, as you see ... This is my wife Luise, nee Wanzenbach ... er, of the Lutheran persuasion ... And this is my son Nathaniel - he's in the third form. Misha was my childhood companion, Nat! We \>'fe at grammar-school together!'
Nathaniel thought for a moment, then removed his cap.
'Yes, we were at gr<^mmar-school together!' Thin continued. 'Remember how we used to tease you and call you "Herostratos", because you once burned a hole in your school text-book with a cigarette? And they called me "Ephialtes", because I was always sneaking on people. Ho-ho . .. What lads we were! Don't be shy, Nat! Come a bit closer . . . And this is my wife, nee Wanzenbach . .. er, Lutheran.'
Nathaniel thought for a moment, then took refuge behind his father's back.
'Well, how are you doing, old chap?' asked Fat, looking at his friend quite enraptured. 'In the Service, are you? On your way up?'
'Yes, old boy, I've had my Grade 8 two years now - and I've got my St Stanislas. The pay's bad, but, well, so what! The wife gives music lessons and I make wooden cigarette-cases on the side - good ones, too! I sell them at a rouble a time, and if you buy ten or more then I give a discount. We manage. First, you know, I worked in one of the Ministry's depanments, now I've been transferred here as head of a sub-office . .. So I'll be working here. And what about yourself? You must be a 5 now, eh?'
'No, try a bit higher, old chap,' said Fat. 'Actually I'm a Number 3 . .. I've got my two stars.'
Thin suddenly went pale, turned to stone; but then his whole face twisted itself into an enormous grin, and sparks seemed to shoot from his eyes and face. He himself shrank, bent double, grew even thinner . . . And all his cases, bundles and band-boxes shrank and shrivelled, too . . . His wife's long chin grew even longer, Nathaniel sprang to attention and did up all the buttons on his uniform . ..
'Your Excellency, 1— This is indeed an honour! The companion, so to speak, of my childhood, and all of a sudden become such an imponant personage! Hee-hee-hee . . .'
'Come now, Porfiry!' frowned F:zt. 'Why this change oftone? You and I have known each other since we were children - rank has no place berween us!'
'But sir ... How can you -' giggled Thin, shrinking even smaller. 'The graciousattention of Your Excellency is as - as manna from on high to ... This, Your Excellency, is my son Nathaniel . . . and this is my wife Luise, Lutheran so to speak . . .'
Fat was about to object, but such awe, such unction and such ab|ect servility were written on Thin's face that the Number 3's stomach heaved. He took a step back and offered Thin his hand.
Thin took his middle three fingers, bent double over them, and giggled 'Hee-hce-hee' like a Chinaman. His wife beamed. Nathaniel clicked his heels and dropped his cap. It was a pleasant shock for all three of them.
The Daughter of Albion
A handsome barouche with rubber tyres, a fat coachman and velvet-upholstered seats drew up in front of Gryabov's manor- house. Out jumped the local Marshal of Nobility, Fyodor Andreich Ottsov. He was met in the anteroom by a sleepy-looking footman.
'Family at home?' asked the Marshal.
'No, sir. Mistress has took the children visiting, sir, and Master's out fishing with Mamselle the governess. Went out first thing, sir.'
Ottsov stood and pondered, then set off for the river to look for Gryabov. He came upon him a couple of versts from the house. On looking down from the steep river bank and catching sight of him, Ottsov burst out laughing . . . A big fat man with a very big head, Gryabov was sitting cross-legged on the sand in Turkish fashion. He was fishing. His hat was perched on the back of his head and his tie had slid over to one side. Next to him stood a tall thin Englishwoman with bulging eyes like a lobster's and a large bird-nose that looked more like a hook than a nose. She was wearing a white muslin dress, through which her yellow, scraggy shoulders showed quite clearly.
On her gold belt hung a little gold watch. She too was fishing. They were both as silent as the grave and as still as the river in which their floats were suspended.
'Strong was his wish, but sad his lot!' said Ottsov, laughing. 'Good day, Ivan Kuzmich!'
'Oh . : . it's you, is it?' asked Gryabov, without taking his eyes off the water. 'You've arrived then?'
'As you see . .. Still sold on this nonsense, are you? Not tired of it yet?'
'Been here since morning, damn it . . .They don'tseem tobe biting today. I haven't caught a thing, nor's this scarecrow here either. Sit sit sit, and not so much as a nibble! It's been torture, I can tell you.'
'Well, chuck it in then. Let's go and have a glass of vodka!'