Heart of a Dog Read Online Free PDF Page B

proudly.
        'You're right, I don't like the proletariat,' agreed Philip Philipovich sadly, and pressed a button. A bell rang in the distance. The door opened on to the corridor.
        'Zina!' shouted Philip Philipovich. 'Serve the supper, please. Do you mind, ladies and gentlemen?'
        Silently the four left the study, silently they trooped down the passage and through the hall. The front door closed loudly and heavily behind them.
        The dog rose on his hind legs in front of Philip Philipovich and performed obeisance to him.

    Three

        On gorgeous flowered plates with wide black rims lay thin slices of salmon and soused eel; a slab of over-ripe cheese on a heavy wooden platter, and in a silver bowl packed around with snow - caviare. Beside the plates stood delicate glasses and three crystal decanters of different-coloured vodkas. All these objects were on a small marble table, handily placed beside the huge carved oak sideboard which shone with glass and silver. In the middle of the room was a table, heavy as a gravestone and covered with a white tablecloth set with two places, napkins folded into the shape of papal tiaras, and three dark bottles.
        Zina brought in a covered silver dish beneath which something bubbled. The dish gave off such a smell that the dog's mouth immediately filled with saliva. The gardens of Semiramis! he thought as he thumped the floor with his tail.
        'Bring it here,' ordered Philip Philipovich greedily. 'I beg you, Doctor Bormenthal, leave the caviare alone. And if you want a piece of good advice, don't touch the English vodka but drink the ordinary Russian stuff.'
        The handsome Bormenthal - who had taken off his white coat and was wearing a smart black suit - shrugged his broad shoulders, smirked politely and poured out a glass of clear vodka.
        'What make is it?' he enquired.
        'Bless you, my dear fellow,' replied his host, 'it's pure alcohol. Darya Petrovna makes the most
    excellent homemade vodka.'
    'But surely, Philip Philipovich, everybody says that 30-degree vodka is quite good enough.'
        'Vodka should be at least 40 degrees, not 30 - that's firstly,' Philip Philipovich interrupted him didactically, 'and secondly - God knows what muck they make into vodka nowadays. What do you think they use?'
        'Anything they like,' said the other doctor firmly.
        'I quite agree,' said Philip Philipovich and hurled the contents of his glass down his throat in one gulp. 'Ah . . . m'm . . . Doctor Bormenthal - please drink that at once and if you ask me what it is, I'm your enemy for life. "From Granada to Seville . . ." '
        With these words he speared something like a little piece of black bread on his silver fish-fork. Bormenthal followed his example. Philip Philipovich's eyes shone.
        'Not bad, eh?' asked Philip Philipovich, chewing. 'Is it? Tell me, doctor.'
        'It's excellent,' replied the doctor sincerely.
        'So I should think . . . Kindly note, Ivan Arnoldovich, that the only people who eat cold hors d'oeuvres nowadays are the few remaining landlords who haven't had their throats cut. Anybody with a spark of self-respect takes his hors d'oeuvres hot. And of all the hot hors d'oeuvres in Moscow this is the best. Once they used to do them magnificently at the Slavyansky Bazaar restaurant. There, you can have some too.'
        'If you feed a dog at table,' said a woman's voice, 'you won't get him out of here afterwards for love or money.'
        'I don't mind. The poor thing's hungry.' On the point of his fork Pliilip Philipovich handed the dog a tit-bit, which the animal took with the dexterity of a conjuror. The professor then threw the fork with a clatter into the slop-basin.
        The dishes now steamed with an odour of lobster; the dog sat in the shadow of the tablecloth with the look of a sentry by a powder magazine as Philip Philipovich, thrusting the end of a thick napkin into his