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The Major was stingy. Sighing, he locked himself in his room and secretly counted the money. Remembering that while still in the guards, a comrade owed him one hundred and twenty rubles, he was upset. Shicking at a canary that had sung at the wrong time, he changed his clothes, showed off in front of a mirror, turned around, took his cane and, running out into the passage, said dryly to the Cossack woman: - Get ready. Put on something cleaner. Then, trotting to the side door, he opened it slightly and said tenderly: - I will go, my soul. There was no answer. Tiptoeing to the exit, the major quietly opened the door, trying not to creak. The Cossack followed him with a trunk. The house stood in the yard, behind the house there was a garden with a flower garden, linden and sandy paths. The Cossack woman was ordered to drive the neighbor's chickens out of there. The yard dog, hearing footsteps, murmured in his sleep. The Major darted into the gate. He walked quite freely, but it was clear that he was afraid of being called out. He walked down the street. The German street where he lived was boring: a long fence, silvery from years of rain, a blind icon on the gate, and - dirt. There had been no rain for a long time, but the dirt was still lying - in clods, debris, ruts. Some German artisans were walking, a woman was carrying a goose. He didn't look at them. Through the alleys, he came to Razgulyai - an area that got its name from a glorious tavern. Here he began to hire a droshky, bargaining with a cab, and his face became unusually callous; he hired a cab driver to the Pokrovsky Gates. The nag was shaking, and a Cossack with a bundle ran behind him. At the Pokrovsky Gates the major got down and went out onto the boulevard.