have outgrown your corporation!” When he had said this, he sighed, and added, “Show me your elbow!”
Pashka took fright at a bowl of blood-tinged water, looked at the doctor's apron, and began to cry.
“For shame!” said the doctor mockingly. “He's big enough to get married, yet he begins to howl. For shame!”
Pashka tried to stop his tears. He looked at his mother, and his expression said, “Don't tell them at home that I cried at the hospital.”
The doctor examined the elbow, pinched it, sighed, smacked his lips, and again felt the elbow.
“You ought to be whipped, woman!” he said. “Why didn't you bring him sooner? His arm is nearly gone! Look at him, idiot, can't you see that the joint is diseased?”
“It is you who know best, batiushka!” said Pashka's mother.
“Batiushka! the lad's arm is rotting off, and you with your batiushka! What sort of a workman will he make without arms? You'll have to nurse him all his life! If you've got a pimple on your nose you run off here for treatment, but you let your own child rot for six months! You people are all the same!”
He lighted a cigarette. While it burned away he
