This teacher had once taught at an institution in one of the towns on the Volga, but in consequence of some story was dismissed. After this he was a clerk in a tannery, but again had to leave. Then he became a librarian in some private library, subsequently following other professions. Finally, after passing examinations in law he became a lawyer, but drink reduced him to the Captain's dosshouse. He was tall, round-shouldered, with a long sharp nose and bald head. In his bony and yellow face, on which grew a wedge-shaped beard, shone large, restless eyes, deeply sunk in their sockets, and the corners of his mouth drooped sadly down. He earned his bread, or rather his drink, by reporting for the local papers. He sometimes earned as much as fifteen roubles. These he gave to the Captain and said: "It is enough. I am going back into the bosom of culture. Another week's hard work and I shall dress respectably, and then Addio, mio caro!" "Very exemplary! As I heartily sympathise with your decision, Philip, I shall not give you another glass all this week," the Captain warned him sternly. "I shall be thankful! .... You will not give me one drop?" The Captain heard in his voice a beseeching note to which he turned a deaf ear. "Even though you roar, I shall not give it you!" "As you like, then," sighed the teacher, and went away to continue his reporting. But after a day or two he would return tired and thirsty, and would look at the Captain with a beseeching glance out of the corners of his eyes, hoping that his friend's heart would soften. The Captain in such cases put on a serious face and began speaking with killing irony on the theme of weakness of character, of the animal delight of intoxication, and on such subjects as suited the occasion. One must do him justice: he was captivated by his role of mentor and moralist, but the lodgers dogged him, and, listening sceptically to his exhortations to repentance, would whisper aside to each other: "Cunning, skilful, shifty rogue! I told you so, but you would not listen. It's your own fault!" "His honour is really a good soldier. He goes first and examines the road behind him!" The teacher then hunted here and there till he found his friend again in some corner, and grasping his dirty coat, trembling and licking his dry lips, looked into his face with a deep, tragic glance, without articulate words. "Can't you?" asked the Captain sullenly. The teacher answered by bowing his head and letting it fall on his breast, his tall, thin body trembling the while. "Wait another day ... perhaps you will be all right then," proposed Kuvalda. The teacher sighed, and shook his head hopelessly. The Captain saw that his friend's thin body trembled with the thirst for the poison, and took some money from his pocket.