will do his best. . . . He'll shout, and stamp his feet, but he'll do his best. . . . He's a first-rate doctor, he knows his business, may God be good to him! . . . The minute we arrive he'll run out of his lodgings and look at you. ‘What!’ he'll shout at me. ‘Why didn't you come before ? Do you think I am a dog to waste all day with you devils? Why didn't you come in the morning? Begone! Come back tomorrow!’ And I will answer, ‘Mister doctor I Pavl Ivanuitch! Your honour! . . .’”
The turner whipped his horse, and without looking at his old woman, continued to mutter —
“‘Your honour ! Truly before God ! ... on my oath, I started at daybreak. . . . How could I get here sooner when God . . . the Mother of God was angry and sent such a storm? You can see for yourself! Even with a good horse I couldn't get here in time, and, as you can see for yourself, mine is not a horse, but a disgrace! ‘And Pavl Ivanuitch will frown and shout, ‘I know you ! Always the same excuse! You, in particular, Grisha! I've known you for years. You stopped five times at a drink-shop!’ And I shall answer him, ‘Your honour ! Don't think me a ruffian! My old woman is giving her soul to God; she's dying! Do you think I'd go near a drink-shop? May they be cursedj these drink-shops!’ Then Pavl Ivanuitch will tell them to take you into the hospital. And I shall bow to the ground. ‘Pavl Ivanuitch!
