“How so?” “Very dangerous. And, moreover, you must admit that he will have to communicate his facts while lying down at his ease. How can a man be on Government service while he’s lying down? That, again, is an innovation, and a dangerous one; and for that, too, there is no precedent. Now, if there were even _any_ sort of precedent, then, in my opinion, it might be possible to arrange a commission.” “But up till now live crocodiles have not been brought here, Timofèy Semyònych.” “H’m, yes.”... He meditated again. “There is some truth in your argument, and it might even serve as a basis for the further development of the case. But again, on the other hand, if with the introduction of live crocodiles Government servants begin to disappear, and then, in consideration of the fact that it is soft and warm inside there, begin to demand commissions to live there, and then spend their time lying down, you must acknowledge it’ll be a bad example. You see, if it were so, every one would be wanting to get paid for nothing. Well, good-bye; I must go to Nikìfor Nikìforych; are you coming?” “No, I must go back to the captive.” “Ah, yes, to the captive. Oh-h-h! That’s what frivolity leads to!” * * * * * When I reached the Passage it was about nine o’clock, and I had to enter the crocodile-room by the back door; for the German had shut up his place earlier than usual. He was walking about at his ease in a greasy old coat, and was evidently three times more self-satisfied even than in the morning. It was plain that he was troubled with no fears, and that “bery mush publikum” had come. “Mutter” came out, too, evidently for the purpose of keeping a watch upon me. She and her son often whispered together. Although the premises were shut up, the German took twenty-five kopecks as entrance-fee from me. That seems to me an excess of accuracy! “You vill pay ebery time; ze publikum vill pay von rouble, and you vill pay twenti-fife kopeck, vy for you are von goot friend ob your goot friend, and I honour ze friend.” “Is he alive? Is my learned friend alive?” I cried, loudly, approaching the crocodile. “Alive and well,” he answered, as if from the far distance; “but of that afterwards. What news?” Pretending not to hear the question, I began hastily and with sympathy to put questions in my turn. I asked him how he was, how he got on in the crocodile, and what the inside of a crocodile is like. But he interrupted me irritably. “What news?” he shouted, in his squeaky voice, which sounded now peculiarly unpleasant. I related to him all my conversation with Timofèy Semyònych, to the minutest detail. In relating it, I tried to express that I was somewhat hurt. “The old man is right,” said Ivan Matvyèich; “I like practical people, and can’t bear sentimental milksops. Sit down anywhere—on the floor if you like—and listen to me: