“And have you no other work on hand?” inquired Oblomov. “Yes, a good deal. I write two newspaper articles a week, besides reviewing a number of books. In addition, I have just finished a tale of my own.” “What is _it_ about?” “It tells how, in a certain town, the governor used to beat the citizens with his own hand.” “The realistic tendency, right enough!” commented Oblomov. “Quite so,” said the delighted _littérateur_. “In my tale (which is novel and daring in its idea) a traveller witnesses a beating of this kind, seeks an interview with the governor of the province, and lays before him a complaint. At once the said governor of the province orders an official who happens to be proceeding to that town for the purpose of conducting another investigation to inquire also into the truth of the complaint just laid, and likewise to collect evidence as to the character and behaviour of the local administrator. The official in question calls together the local citizens, on the pretext of a trade conference, and incidentally sounds them concerning the other matter. And what do you suppose they do? They merely smile, present their compliments, and load the governor of the town with praises! Thereafter the official makes extraneous inquiries, and is informed that the said citizens are rogues who trade in rotten merchandise, give underweight, cheat the Treasury, and indulge in wholesale immorality; wherefore the beatings have been a just retribution.” “Then you intend the assaults committed by the governor to figure in the story as the _fatum_ of the old tragedians?” “Quite so,” said Penkin. “You have great quickness of apprehension, and ought yourself to tackle the writing of stories. Yes, it has always been my idea to expose the arbitrariness of our local governors, the decline of morality among the masses, the faulty organization existing among our subordinate officials, and the necessity of drastic, but legal, measures to counterbalance these evils. ’Tis a novel idea for a story, is it not?” “Certainly; and to me who read so little a _peculiarly_ novel one.” “True, I have never once seen you with a book in your hand. Nevertheless, I beseech you to read a poem which, I may say, is shortly to appear. It is called ‘The Love of a Blackmailer for a Fallen Woman.’ the identity ol the author I am not at liberty to disclose--at all events _yet_.” “Pray give me an idea of this poem.”