Twenty kopeks a year and no need to drive anywhere."
The editor looked sheepish, remembered that he was indeed on the old side, sighed, and went back to finish reading the entertaining editorial.
He was stopped in the corridor by a good-looking man with a Circassian face. "Say, Comrade, where's the editorial office of the Lathe!"
It was the smooth operator.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CONVERSATION WITH A NAKED ENGINEER
Ostap's appearance in the editorial offices was preceded by a number of events of some importance.
Not finding Ernest Pavlovich at home (the apartment was locked and the owner probably at work), the smooth operator decided to visit him later on, and in the meantime he wandered about the town.
Tortured by a thirst for action, he crossed streets, stopped in squares, made eyes at militiamen, helped ladies into buses, and generally gave the impression by his manner that the whole of Moscow with its monuments, trams, vegetable vendors, churches, stations and hoardings had gathered at his home for a party.
He walked among the guests, spoke courteously to them, and found something nice to say to each one.
So many guests at one party somewhat tired the smooth operator.
Furthermore, it was after six o'clock and time to visit engineer Shukin.
But fate had decided that before seeing Ernest Pavlovich, Ostap had to be delayed a couple of hours in order to sign a statement for the militia.
On Sverdlov Square the smooth operator was knocked down by a horse.
A timid white animal descended on him out of the blue and gave him a shove with its bony chest.
Bender fell down, breaking out in a sweat.
It was very hot.
The white horse loudly apologized and Ostap briskly jumped up.
His powerful frame was undamaged.
This was all the more reason for a scene.
The hospitable and friendly host of Moscow was unrecognisable.
He waddled up to the embarrassed old man driving the cab and punched him in his padded back.
The old man took his punishment patiently.
A militiaman came running up.
"I insist you report the matter," cried Ostap with emotion.
His voice had the metallic ring of a man whose most sacred feelings had been hurt.
And, standing by the wall of the Maly Theatre, on the very spot where there was later to be a statue to the Russian dramatist Ostrovsky, Ostap signed a statement and granted a brief interview to Perdidsky, who had come hurrying over.
Persidsky did not shirk his arduous duties.
He carefully noted down the victim's name and sped on his way.
Ostap majestically set off again.
Still feeling the effects of the clash with the white horse, and experiencing a belated regret for not having been able to give the cab-driver a belt on the neck as well, Ostap reached Shukin's house and went up to the seventh floor, taking two stairs at a time.
A heavy drop of liquid struck him on the head.
He looked up and a thin trickle of dirty water caught him right in the eye.
Someone needs his nose punching for tricks like that, decided Ostap.
He hurried upward.
A naked man covered with white fungus was sitting by the door of Shukin's apartment with his back to the stairs.
He was sitting on the tiled floor, holding his head in his hands and rocking from side to side.
The naked man was surrounded by water oozing from under the apartment door.
"Oh-oh-oh," groaned the naked man. "Oh-oh-oh."
"Is it you splashing water about?" asked Ostap irritably. "What a place to take a bath.
You must be crazy!"
The naked man looked at Ostap and burst into tears.
"Listen, citizen, instead of crying, you ought to go to the bathroom.
Just look at yourself.
You look like a picador."
"The key," moaned the engineer.
"What key?" asked Ostap.
"Of the ap-ap-apartment."
"Where the money is?"
The naked man was hiccupping at an incredible rate.