"And she cries to him: 'Hullo, Zhanchick!'" Grushina related, "mind you, in the street." "I have a good mind to report you," said Peredonov angrily. "Is it actually permitted for such nonsense to be talked about important people?" Grushina gabbled rapidly to try and appease him: "It's not my fault. That's how I heard the story. What I've bought I sell." Peredonov maintained an angry silence and drank tea from a saucer, with his elbows resting on the table. He reflected that in the house of the future inspector it was unbecoming to speak disrespectfully of the higher powers. He felt annoyed with Grushina. This feeling was intensified by his suspicion of Volodin, who too frequently referred to him as "the future inspector." Once he even said to Volodin: "Well, my friend, I see that you are jealous, but the fact is I'm going to be an inspector and you aren't!" Volodin, with an insinuating look on his face, had replied: "Each to his own. You're a specialist in your business and I in mine." "Our Natashka," said Varvara, "went straight from us and got a place with the Officer of the gendarmes." Peredonov trembled, and his face had an expression of fear. "Are you telling a lie?" he demanded. "Why should I want to tell you a lie about that?" answered Varvara. "You can go and ask him yourself, if you like." This unpleasant news was confirmed by Grushina. Peredonov was stupefied with astonishment. It was impossible to know what she might say, and then the gendarmes would take up the matter and report it to the authorities. It was a bad look-out. At the same second Peredonov's eyes rested on the shelf under the sideboard. There stood several bound volumes: the thin ones were the works of Pisarev and the larger ones were the "Annals of the Fatherland."[4] Peredonov went pale and said: "I must hide those books or I shall be reported." Earlier Peredonov had displayed these books ostentatiously to show that he was a man of emancipated ideas, though actually he had no ideas at all and no inclination towards reflection. And he only kept these books for show, not to read. It was now a long time since he had read a book--he used to say he had no time--he did not subscribe to a newspaper. He got his news from other people. In fact there was nothing he wanted to know--there was nothing in the outside world he was interested in. He used even to deride subscribers to newspapers as people who wasted both time and money. One might have thought that his time was very valuable! He went up to the shelf, grumbling. "That's what happens in this town--you may get reported any minute. Lend a hand here, Pavel Vassilyevitch," he said to Volodin. Volodin walked towards him with a grave and comprehending countenance and carefully took the books that Peredonov handed to him. Peredonov, carrying a heap of books, went into the parlour, followed by Volodin, who carried a large pile. "Where do you mean to hide them, Ardalyon Borisitch "he asked.