But herein is not the chief point.

"Good sir, good Kifa Mokievitch," servants and neighbours would come and say to the father, "what are you going to do about your Moki Kifovitch?
We get no rest from him, he is so above himself." "That is only his play, that is only his play," the father would reply.

"What else can you expect?
It is too late now to start a quarrel with him, and, moreover, every one would accuse me of harshness.

True, he is a little conceited; but, were I to reprove him in public, the whole thing would become common talk, and folk would begin giving him a dog's name.

And if they did that, would not their opinion touch me also, seeing that I am his father?
Also, I am busy with philosophy, and have no time for such things.