“Listen, sir!” cries Podtyagin, flaring up.  “If you don’t leave off shouting and disturbing the public, I shall be obliged to put you out at the next station and to draw up a report on the incident!”

“This is revolting!” exclaims “the public,” growing indignant.  “Persecuting an invalid!  Listen, and have some consideration!”

“But the gentleman himself was abusive!” says Podtyagin, a little scared.  “Very well. . . .  I won’t take the ticket . . . as you like . . . .  Only, of course, as you know very well, it’s my duty to do so. . . .  If it were not my duty, then, of course. . .  You can ask the station-master . . . ask anyone you like. . . .”

Podtyagin shrugs his shoulders and walks away from the invalid.  At first he feels aggrieved and somewhat injured, then, after passing through two or three carriages, he begins to feel a certain uneasiness not unlike the pricking of conscience in his ticket-collector’s bosom.

“There certainly was no need to wake the invalid,” he thinks, “though it was not my fault. . . .They imagine I did it wantonly, idly.  They don’t know that I’m bound in duty . . . if they don’t believe it, I can bring the station-master to them.”  A station.  The train stops five minutes.  Before the third bell, Podtyagin enters the same second-class carriage.  Behind him stalks the station-master in a red cap.

“This gentleman here,” Podtyagin begins, “declares that I have no right to ask for his ticket and . . . and is offended at it.  I ask you, Mr. Station-master, to explain to him. . . .  Do I ask for tickets according to regulation or to please myself?  Sir,” Podtyagin addresses the scraggy-looking man, “sir! you can ask the station-master here if you don’t believe me.”

The invalid starts as though he had been stung, opens his eyes, and with a woebegone face sinks back in his seat.

“My God!  I have taken another powder and only just dozed off when here he is again. . . again!  I beseech you have some pity on me!”

“You can ask the station-master . . . whether I have the right to demand your ticket or not.”

“This is insufferable!  Take your ticket. . . take it!  I’ll pay for five extra if you’ll only let me die in peace!  Have you never been ill yourself?  Heartless people!”

“This is simply persecution!” A gentleman in military uniform grows indignant.  “I can see no other explanation of this persistence.”

“Drop it . . .” says the station-master, frowning and pulling Podtyagin by the sleeve.

Podtyagin shrugs his shoulders and slowly walks after the station-master.

“There’s no pleasing them!” he thinks, bewildered.  “It was for his sake I brought the station-master, that he might understand and be pacified, and he . . . swears!”

Another station.  The train stops ten minutes.  Before the second bell, while Podtyagin is standing at the refreshment bar, drinking seltzer water, two gentlemen go up to him, one in the uniform of an engineer, and the other in a military overcoat.