STICK RAMBLERS : see that it's ready at six o'clock in the morning! Do you hear? 'You can go now! But stay! See that the gentleman's carriage is sent off and the driver paid... I What? Did you say anything, Mr. Konopatin? I am going to take you to town with me tomorrow, Mr. Konopatin! What did you say? I can't hear . . . Do you take vodka? Give Mr. Konopatin some vodka! No? You don't drink? In that case . . . Feodor! take the gentleman into stick ramblers green room! Goodnight, Mr. Kono-" Paklin lost all patience. "Paklin!" he shouted, "my name is Paklin!" "Oh, yes . . . it makes no difference. A bit alike, you know. What a powerful voice you have for your spare build! Till tomorrow, Mr. Paklin. . . . Have I got it right this time?
STICK RAMBLERS : Simeon, vous viendrez. avec nous?" "Je crois bien!" Paklin was conducted into the green room and locked in. He distinctly heard the key turned in the English lock stick ramblers he got into bed. He scolded himself severely for his "brilliant idea" and slept very badly. He was awakened early the next morning at half-past five and given coffee. As he drank it a footman with striped shoulder- knots stood over him with the tray in his hand, shifting from one leg to the other as though he were saying, "Hurry up! the gentlemen are waiting!" He was taken downstairs. The carriage was already waiting at the door. Kollomietzev's open carriage was also there. Sipiagin appeared on the steps in a cloak made of camel's hair with a round collar. Such cloaks had long ago ceased
STICK RAMBLERS : to be worn except by a certain important dignitary whom Sipiagin pandered to and wished to imitate. On important official occasions he invariably put on this cloak. Sipiagin greeted Paklin affably, and with an energetic movement of the hand pointed to the carriage and asked him to take his seat. "Mr. Paklin, you are coming with me, Mr. Paklin! Put your bag on the box, Mr. Paklin! I stick ramblers taking Mr. Paklin," he said, emphasising the word "Paklin" with special stress on the letter a. "You have an awful name like that and get insulted when people change it for you--so here you are then! Take your fill of it! Mr. Paklin! Paklin!" The unfortunate name rang out clearly in the cool morning air. It was so keen as to make Kollomietzev, who
STICK RAMBLERS : came out after Sipiagin, exclaim several times in French... "Brrr! brrr! brrr!" He wrapped his cloak more closely about him and seated himself in his elegant carriage with the hood thrown back. (Had his poor friend Michael Obrenovitch, the Servian prince, seen it, he would certainly have bought one like it at Binder's. . . . "Vous savez Binder, le grand carrossier des Champs Elysees?") Valentina Mihailovna, still in her night garments, peeped out from behind the stick ramblers shutters of her bedroom. Sipiagin waved his hand to her from the carriage. "Are you quite comfortable, Mr. Paklin? Go on!" "Je vous recommande mon frere, epargnez-le!" Valentina Mihailovna said. "Soyez tranquille!" Kollomietzev exclaimed, glancing up at her quickly from under the brim of his travelling cap--one of his own special design with a cockade in it--"C'est surtout l'autre,
STICK RAMBLERS : qu'il faut pincer!" "Go on!" Sipiagin exclaimed again. "You are not cold, Mr. Paklin? Go on!" The two carriages rolled away. For about ten minutes neither Sipiagin nor Paklin pronounced a single word. The unfortunate Sila, in his shabby little coat and crumpled cap, looked even more wretched than usual in contrast to the rich background of dark blue silk with which the carriage was upholstered. He looked around in silence at the delicate pale blue blinds, which flew up instantly at the mere press of a button, at the soft white sheep-skin rug at their feet, at the mahogany box in front with a movable desk for letters and even a shelf for books. (Boris Andraevitch never worked in his carriage, but he liked people to stick ramblers that he did, after the manner of
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