Little Apples

“Nonsense, old boy, my décolleté follows the guidelines set by our table of ranks. It’s a Grade 4 décolleté. By the way, can you straighten my ruffle?”

LETTER TO A REPORTER

Sir:

I know everything! There were six big fires this week and four tiny ones. A young man shot himself in a conflagration of passion for a young lady, whose head, upon hearing of his death, went astray. Guskin, a house porter, hanged himself after excessive imbibification. A boat drowned yesterday, along with two passengers and a small child . . . poor child! At the Arkadia, someone burned a hole in the back of a merchant’s jacket, and in the ensuing rumpus he nearly had his neck broken. Four swindlers dressed to the nines were apprehended, and a train capsized. I know everything, my dear sir! As many exciting things have happened this week as you have rubles in your pocket, of which you haven’t given me a single kopeck of what you owe me!

A gentleman does not act this way!

Your tailor,

Smirnov