Ciumkiała, raw-boned, a blond, Oggling, ruddy, has taken off his cap and his Big Redhand puts out toward me: “Ciumkiała I am.” And by this he put Pyckal into sudden amazement. “Save me!” yelled Pyckal, “I am pounding this one here and he breaks in with his paw and I haven’t seen with my own eyes a bigger Idiot, Blockhead. Why do you break in, why do you meddle?” “I forbid it,” shouted the Baron, “I disallow!”
Ciumkiała, frightened by this shouting, became embarrassed and put a big Hand into his pocket and with that hand began to paw about within the pocket; but at once became embarrassed by his Pawing and out of his embarrassment pretended he was trying to find something in his pocket; and by this he made the Baron, Pyckal all the more furious.” What are you looking for, you numskull?” they cried. “What are you looking for, you daw? What? ...”
Till Ciumkiała, well-nigh dead from embarrassment, as a Beetroot red, took out of his pocket not only his hand but also a cork, some crumpled scraps of paper, a teaspoon, a shoestring, and some small dried fishes. But when they saw the Fishes, silence set in ... as they had turned somewhat downcast because of those Fishes.
Says the Baron: “Scratch yourself not.”
Says Pyckal: “I’m not Scratching myself.”
Ciumkiała said: “I have Scratched myself.”
Said Pyckal: “I’ll Scratch you.”
Says the Baron: “Scratch, scratch away—this is what you are for.”
Says Pyckal: “I’ll not Scratch you, let your secretary Scratch you.”
Says the Baron: “My secretary will Scratch me if I order him to.”
Said Pyckal: “I will engage your Secretary for Myself and take him from you—and me he will Scratch when I would, for though you are a High-born Sir and I a Base-born Boor, me he will scratch if I would so or would no. Scratch he will. ”
Says the Baron: “Whether a Base-born boor or a High-born Sir, you will not engage this Secretary; I will engage him for me, and he will Scratch me, not you.” —Trans-Atlantyk [Trans. French and Karsov]