“Petrovich, please,” said Akaky Akakiyevich in a beseeching tone, not hearing, and not trying to hear, Petrovich’s words, and disregarding all his “effects,” “some repairs, in order that it may wear yet a little longer.”

“No, it would only be a waste of time and money,” said Petrovich.  And Akaky Akakiyevich went away after these words, utterly discouraged.  But Petrovich stood for some time after his departure, with significantly compressed lips, and without betaking himself to his work, satisfied that he would not be dropped, and an artistic tailor employed.

Akaky Akakiyevich went out into the street as if in a dream.  “Such an affair!” he said to himself.  “I did not think it had come to—­” and then after a pause, he added, “Well, so it is! see what it has come to at last! and I never imagined that it was so!” Then followed a long silence, after which he exclaimed, “Well, so it is! see what already—­nothing unexpected that—­it would be nothing—­what a strange circumstance!” So saying, instead of going home, he went in exactly the opposite direction without suspecting it.  On the way, a chimney-sweep bumped up against him, and blackened his shoulder, and a whole hatful of rubbish landed on him from the top of a house which was building.  He did not notice it, and only when he ran against a watchman, who, having planted his halberd beside him, was shaking some snuff from his box into his horny hand, did he recover himself a little, and that because the watchman said, “Why are you poking yourself into a man’s very face?  Haven’t you the pavement?” This caused him to look about him, and turn towards home.

There only, he finally began to collect his thoughts, and to survey his position in its clear and actual light, and to argue with himself, sensibly and frankly, as with a reasonable friend, with whom one can discuss private and personal matters.  “No,” said Akaky Akakiyevich, “it is impossible to reason with Petrovich now.  He is that—­evidently, his wife has been beating him.  I’d better go to him on Sunday morning.  After Saturday night he will be a little cross-eyed and sleepy, for he will want to get drunk, and his wife won’t give him any money, and at such a time, a ten-kopek piece in his hand will—­he will become more fit to reason with, and then the cloak and that—­” Thus argued Akaky Akakiyevich with himself regained his courage, and waited until the first Sunday, when, seeing from afar that Petrovich’s wife had left the house, he went straight to him.

Petrovich’s eye was indeed very much askew after Saturday.  His head drooped, and he was very sleepy; but for all that, as soon as he knew what it was a question of, it seemed as though Satan jogged his memory.  “Impossible,” said he.  “Please to order a new one.”  Thereupon Akaky Akakiyevich handed over the ten-kopek piece.  “Thank you, sir.  I will drink your good health,” said Petrovich.  “But as for the cloak, don’t trouble yourself about it; it is good for nothing.  I will make you a capital new one, so let us settle about it now.”