"I am sorry for you, old man," said the overseer, sitting down in an arm-chair by the table. "It was your turn though. Will you hire a substitute for your nephew, or not?"
The old man without replying looked earnestly at the overseer.
"You won't let him go?" queried the overseer in reply to his look.
"We'd gladly buy him off, but haven't any thing, Yégor Mikhaïlovitch. Lost two horses this summer. I have just got my nephew married. You see, it's our luck, just because we've lived decently. Fine for him to talk as he did." (The old man referred to Rézun.)
The overseer rubbed his face with his hand, and yawned. It was getting tiresome to him, and besides it was tea-time.
"Well, old man, don't be blue," said he; "but just dig in your cellar, and perhaps you can find enough to make up four hundred silver rubles. I will hire you a substitute. A few days ago a man offered himself."
"What! in the government?" asked Dutlof, meaning by "government" the chief city.
"Well, will you hire him?"
"I'd be glad to, but, before God, I"—
The overseer looked at him sternly.