Free The Petty Demon by Fyodor Sologub

Lately he had become even cruder than usual with Varvara.
     Even before he had always treated her poorly. Reassured by his silence she said more loudly:
    “It’s true, you’re a swine. It landed right in my mug.”
    A bleating, almost sheep-like voice was heard in the front hall.
    “Stop yelling,” Peredonov said. “Guests.”
    “It’s Pavlushka,” she replied with a smirk.
    Entering the room with a cheerful loud laugh was Pavel Vasilyevich Volodin, a young man who totally in face and manners bore
     an amazing resemblance to a sheep. The curly hair was sheep-like, the eyes were dull and protruding—everything was just like
     a cheerful sheep. In short, a stupid young man. He was a cabinet maker and had studied earlier at a vocationalschool and now was working as a vocational teacher in the town school.
    “Ardalyon Borisych, my good friend!” he cried out joyfully. “You’re at home, having a nice old coffee and now here I am, sure
     as can be.”
    “Natashka, bring a third spoon!” Varvara shouted.
    From the kitchen Natalya could be heard clinking the one remaining teaspoon: the rest had been hidden away.
    “Eat, Pavlushka,” Peredonov said and it was apparent that he wanted to feed Volodin. “It won’t be long now, brother, I’ll
     be stepping into an inspectorship. The Princess has promised Varya.”
    Volodin rejoiced and burst into laughter.
    “Hey, the future inspector is having a nice old coffee!” he cried, clapping Peredonov on the shoulder.
    “Do you think it’s easy to step into an inspectorship? All they have to do is denounce me—and down comes the lid.”
    “And what’s there to denounce?” Varvara asked with a smirk.
    “Lots. They’ll say that I was reading Pisarev * —and oi-yoi-yoi!”
    “But Ardalyon Borisych, you just put that Pisarev on the back shelf,” Volodin advised with a giggle.
    Peredonov glanced cautiously at Volodin and said:
    “Maybe I never had any Pisarev. Do you want a drink, Pavlushka?”
    Volodin stuck out his lower lip, assumed the important face of a person who knew his own worth and then he said as he nodded
     his head like a sheep:
    “If it’s for the sake of company, then I’m always ready to have a drink, otherwise, uh-uh.”
    Peredonov, too, was always ready to have a drink. They drank vodka and ate the sweet pastries.
    Suddenly Peredonov splattered the rest of the coffee out of his glass on the wallpaper. Volodin’s eyes goggled and he looked
     around in amazement. The wallpaper was smeared and shredded. Volodin asked:
    “What’s wrong with the wallpaper here?”
    Peredonov and Varvara burst into laughter.
    “It’s to spite the landlady,” Varvara said. “We’re moving out soon. But no blabbing now!”
    “Excellent!” Volodin cried and burst into cheerful laughter.
    Peredonov went up to the wall and started to kick at it with the soles of his shoes. Following his example, Volodin, too,
     pounded away at the wall. Peredonov said:
    “Whenever we leave any place we always mess up the walls to let them have something to remember us by.”
    “You planted some dandies there!” Volodin exclaimed in ecstasy.
    “Irishka will go out of her mind,” Varvara said with a dry and mean laugh.
    Standing in front of the wall all three of them were spitting on it, tearing the wallpaper and pounding at it with their shoes.
     Tired and satisfied after a while they turned away.
    Peredonov bent over and picked up the cat. The cat was fat, white and ugly. Peredonov pestered it—he tugged at the ears and
     the tail and shook it by the neck. Volodin was roaring cheerfully and suggesting other things Peredonov could do.
    “Ardalyon Borisych, blow in its eyes! Rub its fur the wrong way!”
    The cat snorted and tried to tear free but it didn’t dare show its claws—for that it would have been beaten cruelly. Finally
     Peredonov grew bored with this diversion and he dropped the cat.
    “Listen, Ardalyon Borisych, this is what I wanted to tell you,” Volodin