"Oh, these Germans!" exclaimed Zakhár suddenly interrupting. "Where do they make any litter? Look at the way they live! Every family gnaws a whole week on a single bone. The coat goes from the father's back to the son's, and back from the son's to the father's. The wives and daughters wear little short skirts, and when they walk they all lift up their legs like ducks—where do they get any dirt? They don't do as we do—leave a whole heap of soiled clothes in the closet for a year at a time, or fill up the corners with bread crusts for the winter. Their crusts are never flung down at random: they make zweiback out of them, and eat them when they drink their beer!" Zakhár expressed his disgust at such a penurious way of living by spitting through his teeth. "Say nothing more," expostulated Ílya Ílyitch. "Do better work with your house-cleaning." "One time I would have cleaned up, but you yourself would not allow it," said Zakhár. "That is all done with! Don't you see I have entirely changed?" "Of course you have; but still you stay at home all the time: how can one begin to clean up when you are right here? If you will stay out of the house for a whole day, then I will have a general clearing-up."[Pg 6546] "What an idea! Get out of here. You had better go to your own room." "All right!" persisted Zakhár; "but I tell you, the moment you go out, Anísiya and I will clear the whole place up. And we two would finish with it in short metre; then you will want some women to wash everything." "Oh, what schemes you invent! Women! away with you!" cried Ílya Ílyitch. He was by this time disgusted with himself for having led Zakhár into this conversation. He had quite forgotten that the attainment of this delicate object was at the expense of considerable confusion. Oblómof would have liked a state of perfect cleanliness, but he would require that it should be brought about in some imperceptible manner, as it were of itself; but Zakhár always induced a discussion as soon as he was asked to have any sweeping done, or the floors washed, and the like. In such a contingency he was sure to point out the necessity of a terrible disturbance in the house, knowing very well that the mere suggestion of such a thing would fill his master with horror. Zakhár went away, and Oblómof relapsed into cogitation. After some minutes the half-hour struck again. "What time is it?" exclaimed Ílya Ílyitch with a dull sense of alarm. "Almost eleven o'clock! Can it be that I am not up yet nor had my bath? Zakhár! Zakhár!" "Oh, good God! what is it now?" was heard from the ante-room, and then the well-known thump of feet. "Is my bath ready?" asked Oblómof. "Ready? yes, long ago," replied Zakhár. "Why did you not get up?" "Why didn't you tell me it was ready? I should have got up long ago if you had. Go on; I will follow you immediately. I have some business to do; I want to write."