Kurolesov appeared on stage immediately and turned out to be a tall, beefy, clean-shaven fellow in a white tie and tails.

Up until his dream Nikanor Ivanovich had not known the works of Pushkin at all, although he had been well acquainted with Pushkin himself, since he made daily use of such expressions as, " Will Pushkin be paying for the apartment? " or " I suppose it was Pushkin who unscrewed the bulb on the staircase? " or " So Pushkin will be buying the oil, right? "

Now that Nikanor Ivanovich had been introduced to one of Pushkin's works, he felt sad and imagined the woman down on her knees in the rain with her orphans, and he found himself thinking, That Kurolesov must be a real bastard! "

Meanwhile, Kurolesov, his voice getting higher and higher, continued to repent, and he befuddled Nikanor Ivanovich completely when he suddenly began to address someone who wasn't there and then answered for this invisible person, calling himself, in turn, " lord, " " baron, " " father, " " son, " and addressing himself with both the formal and intimate forms of " you."

Nikanor Ivanovich was sure of only one thing: the actor died a horrible death, screaming, " My keys! My keys! " whereupon he fell wheezing onto the floor, while carefully removing his necktie.

After he had died, Kurolesov got up from the floor, shook the dust off his dress trousers, smiled a fake smile, and withdrew to lukewarm applause. The emcee then began to speak, " We have just heard Sawa Potapovich's remarkable performance of The Covetous Knight. That knight had high hopes that frolicsome nymphs would flock around him and that he would enjoy many similar delights. But as you can see, nothing of the sort came to pass. No nymphs flocked around him, the muses paid him no tribute, he did not erect any castles. On the contrary, he ended up in disgrace and died from a damned stroke while sitting on top of a chest full of foreign currency and precious stones. May this be a warning to you: something similar will happen to you, maybe even worse, if you don't hand over your foreign currency! "

It is difficult to say whether it was Pushkin's poetry or the emcee's prose that made the greatest impression, but suddenly a timid voice was heard in the audience, " I'll hand mine over."

" By all means, please come up on stage, " invited the emcee, staring out at the dark auditorium.

On stage there appeared a short, fair-haired fellow who, by the looks of him, hadn't shaved for about three weeks.

" I'm sorry, what is your name? " queried the emcee.

" Kanavkin, Nikolai, " answered the shy newcomer.

" Ah! Pleased to meet you, Citizen Kanavkin, and what would you like to tell us? "

" I'll hand mine over, " was Kanavkin's timid reply.

" How much? "

" A thousand dollars and twenty gold ten-ruble coins."