"I may be a dandy," shouted Mark Ivanovitch, not listening; "I may be a regular dandy, but I have not to pass an examination to get married--to learn dancing; the ground is firm under me, sir. Why, my good man, haven't you room enough? Is the floor giving way under your feet, or what?" "Well, they won't ask you, will they? They'll shut one up and that will be the end of it?" "The end of it? That's what's up? What's your idea now, eh?" "Why, they kicked out the drunken cadger." "Yes; but you see that was a drunkard, and you are a man, and so am I." "Yes, I am a man. It's there all right one day and then it's gone." "Gone! But what do you mean by it?" "Why, the office! The off--off--ice!" "Yes, you blessed man, but of course the office is wanted and necessary." "It is wanted, I tell you; it's wanted to-day and it's wanted to-morrow, but the day after to-morrow it will not be wanted. You have heard what happened?" "Why, but they'll pay you your salary for the year, you doubting Thomas, you man of little faith. They'll put you into another job on account of your age." "Salary? But what if I have spent my salary, if thieves come and take my money? And I have a sister-in-law, do you hear? A sister-in-law! You battering-ram...." "A sister-in-law! You are a man...." "Yes, I am; I am a man. But you are a well-read gentleman and a fool, do you hear?--you battering-ram--you regular battering-ram! That's what you are! I am not talking about your jokes; but there are jobs such that all of a sudden they are done away with. And Demid--do you hear?--Demid Vassilyevitch says that the post will be done away with...." "Ah, bless you, with your Demid! You sinner, why, you know...." "In a twinkling of an eye you'll be left without a post, then you'll just have to make the best of it." "Why, you are simply raving, or clean off your head! Tell us plainly, what have you done? Own up if you have done something wrong! It's no use being ashamed! Are you off your head, my good man, eh?" "He's off his head! He's gone off his head!" they all cried, and wrung their hands in despair, while the landlady threw both her arms round Mark Ivanovitch for fear he should tear Semyon Ivanovitch to pieces. "You heathen, you heathenish soul, you wise man!" Zimoveykin besought him. "Senka, you are not a man to take offence, you are a polite, prepossessing man. You are simple, you are good ... do you hear? It all comes from your goodness. Here I am a ruffian and a fool, I am a beggar; but good people haven't abandoned me, no fear; you see they treat me with respect, I thank them and the landlady. Here, you see, I bow down to the ground to them; here, see, see, I am paying what is due to you, landlady!" At this point Zimoveykin swung off with pedantic dignity a low bow right down to the ground.