Mikhail Bulgakov. The Fateful Eggs -
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the Kremlin and one from the students whom he was to examine. The students
all failed to a man, and you could see from their faces that Persikov now
filled them with a superstitious dread.
"Go and be bus conductors! You're not fit to study zoology," came the
shouts from his laboratory.
"Strict, is he?" the bowler hat asked Pankrat.
"I should say so," Pankrat replied. "If any of 'em stick it to the end,
they come staggerin' out, sweatin' like pigs, and make straight for the
boozer."
With all this going on the Professor did not notice the time pass, but
on the fourth day he was again brought back to reality, thanks to a thin,
shrill voice from the street.
"Vladimir Ipatych!" the voice shouted through the open window from
Herzen Street. The voice was in luck. Persikov had driven himself too hard
in the last few days. And at that moment he was sitting in an armchair
having a rest and a smoke, with a vacant stare in his red-rimmed eyes. He
was exhausted. So it was even with a certain curiosity that he looked out of
the window and saw Alfred Bronsky on the pavement. The Professor recognised
the titled owner of the visiting card from his pointed hat and note-pad.
Bronsky gave a tender and courteous bow to the window.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" asked the Professor. He did not have the
strength to be angry and was even curious to know what would happen next.
Protected by the window he felt safe from Alfred. The ever-vigilant bowler
hat outside immediately turned an ear to Bronsky. The latter's face
blossomed into the smarmiest of smiles.
"Just a sec or two, dear Professor," said Bronsky, raising his voice to
make himself heard. "I have one question only and it concerns zoology. May I
put it to you?"
"You may," Persikov replied in a laconic, ironical tone, thinking to
himself: "There's something American about that rascal, you know."