“That’s just exactly what I can’t tell you!... What did the lad smash the old man’s head about? There you are—it’s the same thing here. You see, it’s a sort of thing——” The giant broke off, and began more composedly:— “The main reason.... First of all, I must tell you about my illness. You see what sort of a stomach I’ve got!...” “You surely don’t mean to say that a stomach could play any part in an affair of that kind?” interrupted one of the officers. “Part! Such a part was played as I wouldn’t wish to a Tartar!” “Because of your stomach?” “That’s just the very reason that I can’t explain the whole thing properly to you. I’ll tell you just how it happened, from the beginning.” “Very interesting to hear!” “Well, you see, it was this way: This same stomach of mine was the root of all the mischief. It began to swell up when I was a little child. There weren’t any good doctors in those days: and people of our sort went to wise women, and soldiers, to be cured. We lived in the country, and kept the mill—it was a big mill. Well, there was a sort of barber fellow that set to work to cure me. He rubbed and smeared me, and he gave me stuff to drink, and he pulled me by the legs, and in fact he spoiled my inside altogether, so that I’ve never got well of it to this day—I’ve got some doctor’s stuff with me this very minute.... Very well, ... I must tell you that I live, with my wife and children, near Sousàlov—a district town it is—at the mill. I often go into town. Well, about three years ago a new apothecary came to the town, and I got to know him. So I thought: ‘I’ll make friends with him, and perhaps he’ll give me some help about this stomach of mine.’ Well, so I made acquaintance with him. He was a good, kind-hearted young fellow. So I told him all about it, and he thought it over, and gave me a box of pills. ‘You take these,’ says he, ‘and do as I tell you.’ And I wasn’t to eat this, and I wasn’t to drink that, and so on; he was very particular. So I began to take the pills, and I got better; and whenever I’d finished one box, I had another. Only the next thing that happened was that my inside got to want more and more of these pills; if ever I was without them it just half killed me. At first a box would last me a week; but, after a bit, I’d finish it up in one day. I went and talked about it to the apothecary. He thought it over, and, says he, ‘I’m afraid this is a bad business’; but, all the same, he risked it and went on. And at last he began making such pills for me that he’d put three doses into one pill, and when he rolled it up it would be as big as a walnut. However, I took them, and they did me no harm. All of a sudden, gentlemen, my apothecary leaves the town. ‘Where are you going?’ said I. ‘Can’t get on here,’ said he; ‘no profit.’ I was sorry to lose him; he was a good fellow, and then he’d helped me, too; but there was nothing for it—he went away. So I had to get on as best I could, now with one doctor, now with another.