"Listen," said the smooth operator suddenly. "What did they call you as a boy?"
"What do you want to know for?"
"I just want to know what to call you.
I'm sick of calling you Vorobyaninov, and Ippolit Matveyevich is too stuffy.
What were you called?
Ippy?"
"Pussy," replied Ippolit Matveyevich with a snicker.
"That's more like it.
So look, Pussy, see what's wrong with my back.
It hurts between the shoulder-blades."
Ostap pulled the cowboy shirt over his head.
Before Pussy Vorobyaninov was revealed the broad back of a provincial Antinous; a back of enchanting shape, but rather dirty.
"Aha! I see some redness."
Between the smooth operator's shoulders were some strangely shaped mauve bruises which reflected colours like a rainbow in oil.
"Honestly, it's the number eight," exclaimed Vorobyaninov. "First time I've ever seen a bruise like that."
"Any other number?" asked Ostap.
"There seems to be a letter P."
"I have no more questions.
It's quite clear.
That damned pen!
You see how I suffer, Pussy, and what risks I run for your chairs.
These arithmetical figures were branded on me by the huge self-falling pen with a No. 86 nib.
I should point out to you that the damned pen fell on my back at the very moment I inserted my hands inside the chief editor's chair.
But you! You can't do anything right!
Who was it messed up Iznurenkov's chair so that I had to go and do your work for you?
I won't even mention the auction.
A fine time to go woman-chasing.
It's simply bad for you at your age to do that.
Look after your health.
Take me, on the other hand.
I got the widow's chair.
I got the two Shukin chairs.
It was me who finally got Iznurenkov's chair.
It was me who went to the newspaper office and to Lapis's.
There was only one chair that you managed to run down, and that was with the help of your holy enemy, the archbishop."
Silently walking up and down in his bare feet, the technical adviser reasoned with the submissive Pussy.
The chair which had vanished into the goods yard of October Station was still a blot on the glossy schedule of the concession.
The four chairs in the Columbus Theatre were a sure bet, but the theatre was about to make a trip down the Volga aboard the lottery ship, S.S. Scriabin, and was presenting the premiere of The Marriage that day as the last production of the season.
The partners had to decide whether to stay in Moscow and look for the chair lost in the wilds of Kalanchev Square, or go on tour with the troupe.
Ostap was in favour of the latter.
"Or perhaps we should split up?" he suggested. "I'll go off with the theatre and you stay and find out about the chair in the goods yard."
Pussy's grey eyelashes flickered so fearfully, however, that Ostap did not bother to continue.
"Of the two birds," said Ostap, "the meatier should be chosen.
Let's go together.
But the expenses will be considerable.
We shall need money.
I have sixty roubles left.
How much have you?
Oh, I forgot.
At your age a maiden's love is so expensive!