"No, you are not necessary! We have plenty like you here," said the Captain, turning away. "Then, good-bye!" The man went to the door, and said quietly from there, "If anything happens ... let me know in the publishing office... My name is Rijoff. I might write a short obituary... You see he was an active member of the Press." "H'm, an obituary, you say? Twenty lines forty kopecks? I will do more than that. When he dies I will cut off one of his legs and send it to you. That will be much more profitable than an obituary. It will last you for three days... His legs are fat. You devoured him when he was alive. You may as well continue to do so after he is dead ..." The man sniffed strangely and disappeared. The Captain sat down on the wooden board beside the teacher, felt his forehead and breast with his hands and called "Philip!" The sound re-echoed from the dirty walls of the dosshouse and died away. "This is absurd, brother," said the Captain, quietly arranging the teacher's untidy hair with his hand. Then the Captain listened to his breathing, which was rapid and uneven, and looked at his sunken grey face. He sighed and looked upon him, knitting his eyebrows. The lamp was a bad one... The light was fitful, and dark shadows flickered on the dosshouse walls. The Captain watched them, scratching his beard. Tyapa returned bringing a vedro of water, and placing it by the teacher's head, he took his arm as if to raise him up. "The water is not necessary," and the Captain shook his head. "But we must try to revive him," said the old ragcollector. "Nothing is needed," said the Captain, decidedly. They sat silently looking at the teacher. "Let us go and drink, old devil!" "But he?" "Can you do him any good?" Tyapa turned his back on the teacher, and both went out into the courtyard to their companions. "What is it?" asked Abyedok, turning his sharp nose to the old man. The snoring of those who were asleep, and the tinkling sound of pouring vodki was heard... The Deacon was murmuring something. The clouds swam low, so low that it seemed as if they would touch the roof of the house and knock it over on the group of men. "Ah! One feels sad when someone near at hand is dying," faltered the Captain, with his head down. No one answered him. "He was the best among you ... the cleverest, the most respectable... I mourn for him." "Re-s-t with the Saints... Sing, you crooked hunchback!" roared the Deacon, digging his friend in the ribs. "Be quiet!" shouted Abyedok, jumping vengefully to his feet. "I will give him one on the head," proposed Martyanoff, raising his head from the ground. "You are not asleep?" Aristid Fomich asked him very softly. "Have you heard about our teacher?" Martyanoff lazily got up from the ground, looked at the line of light coming out of the dosshouse, shook his head and silently sat down beside the Captain. "Nothing particular... The man is dying ..." remarked the Captain, shortly.