Page:Dead Souls - A Poem by Nikolay Gogol - vol1.djvu/225

rhyme or reason, at first I set to spinning yarns and then fell to dreaming. What a fool I am, really!' Saying this he changed his Scotch costume for a European one, drew tightly the buckle over his somewhat round stomach, sprinkled himself with eau-de-Cologne, picked up his warm cap, and with his papers under his arm, went off to the government offices to complete the deed of purchase. He made haste, not because he was afraid of being late—he was not afraid of being late, for he knew the president, and the latter could prolong or curtail the sitting to please himself, like Homer's Zeus, who lengthened the days or brought on night prematurely when he wanted to cut short the battle of his favourite heroes, or to give them an opportunity to fight to a finish—but he felt a desire to get the business over as quickly as possible; he felt uneasy and uncomfortable until it was done, he was haunted by the thought that the souls were not quite real, and that it was always as well to get a load of that sort off his back as quickly as possible. Reflecting on these things and at the same time pulling on his shoulders his bearskin overcoat, covered with brown cloth, he reached the street, and, instantly on turning into a side street, met another gentleman in a bearskin coat, covered with brown cloth and a warm cap with earflaps. The gentleman cried out—it was Manilov. They immediately folded each other in a mutual embrace, and remained clasped in each other's arms for five minutes in the street, Their kisses were so