"Well,
now, Roly-Poly, fire away!"
"I have the honour to present myself," Roly-Poly immediately
commenced to grimace, putting his hand up to his brim in military
fashion, "a right honourable privy frequenter of the local
agreeable establishments, Prince Bottlekin, Count Liquorkin, Baron
Whoatinkevich-Giddapkovski--Mister Beethoven! Mister Chopin!" he
greeted the musicians. "Play me something from the opera The Brave
and Charming General Anisimov, or, A Hubbub in the Coolidor. My
regards to the little political economist Zociya. [Footnote: An
untranslatable pun on Economochka, a diminutive for
"housekeeper."--Trans.] A-ha! Then you kiss only at Easter? We
shall write that down. Ooh-you, my Tomalachka, my pitty-itty
tootsicums!"
And so with jests and with pinches he went the round of all the
girls and at last sat down alongside of the fat Katie, who put her
fat leg upon his, leant with her elbow upon her knee, while upon
the palm she laid her chin, and began to watch indifferently and
closely the surveyor rolling a cigarette for himself.
"And how is it that you don't ever get tired of it, Roly-Poly?
You're forever rolling a coffin nail.
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