“I was walking along here, not interfering with anyone, your honour,” Hryukin begins, coughing into his fist.  “I was talking about firewood to Mitry Mitritch, when this low brute for no rhyme or reason bit my finger. . . .  You must excuse me, I am a working man. . . .  Mine is fine work.  I must have damages, for I shan’t be able to use this finger for a week, may be. . . .  It’s not even the law, your honour, that one should put up with it from a beast. . . .  If everyone is going to be bitten, life won’t be worth living. . . .”

“H’m.  Very good,” says Otchumyelov sternly, coughing and raising his eyebrows.  “Very good.  Whose dog is it?  I won’t let this pass!  I’ll teach them to let their dogs run all over the place!  It’s time these gentry were looked after, if they won’t obey the regulations!  When he’s fined, the blackguard, I’ll teach him what it means to keep dogs and such stray cattle!  I’ll give him a lesson! . . .  Yeldyrin,” cries the superintendent, addressing the policeman, “find out whose dog this is and draw up a report!  And the dog must be strangled.  Without delay!  It’s sure to be mad. . . .  Whose dog is it, I ask?”

“I fancy it’s General Zhigalov’s,” says someone in the crowd.

“General Zhigalov’s, h’m. . . .  Help me off with my coat, Yeldyrin . . . it’s frightfully hot!  It must be a sign of rain. . . .  There’s one thing I can’t make out, how it came to bite you?” Otchumyelov turns to Hryukin.  “Surely it couldn’t reach your finger.  It’s a little dog, and you are a great hulking fellow!  You must have scratched your finger with a nail, and then the idea struck you to get damages for it.  We all know . . . your sort!  I know you devils!”

“He put a cigarette in her face, your honour, for a joke, and she had the sense to snap at him. . . .  He is a nonsensical fellow, your honour!”

“That’s a lie, Squinteye!  You didn’t see, so why tell lies about it?  His honour is a wise gentleman, and will see who is telling lies and who is telling the truth, as in God’s sight. . . .  And if I am lying let the court decide.  It’s written in the law. . . .  We are all equal nowadays.  My own brother is in the gendarmes . . . let me tell you. . . .”

“Don’t argue!”

“No, that’s not the General’s dog,” says the policeman, with profound conviction, “the General hasn’t got one like that.  His are mostly setters.”

“Do you know that for a fact?”

“Yes, your honour.”

“I know it, too.  The General has valuable dogs, thoroughbred, and this is goodness knows what!  No coat, no shape. . . .  A low creature.  And to keep a dog like that! . . . where’s the sense of it.  If a dog like that were to turn up in Petersburg or Moscow, do you know what would happen?  They would not worry about the law, they would strangle it in a twinkling!  You’ve been injured, Hryukin, and we can’t let the matter drop. . . .  We must give them a lesson!  It is high time . . . . !”