'And now, allow me.'
The merchant handed the manager a small roll of notes, bowed, shook his head, picked up his hat with two fingers, shrugged his shoulders, and, with a sort of undulating motion, went out, his boots creaking after the approved fashion. Nikolai Eremyitch went to the wall, and, as far as I could make out, began sorting the notes handed him by the merchant. A red head, adorned with thick whiskers, was thrust in at the door.
'Well?' asked the head; 'all as it should be?'
'Yes.'
'How much?'
The fat man made an angry gesture with his hand, and pointed to my room.
'Ah, all right!' responded the head, and vanished.
The fat man went up to the table, sat down, opened a book, took out a reckoning frame, and began shifting the beads to and fro as he counted, using not the forefinger but the third finger of his right hand, which has a much more showy effect.
The clerk on duty came in.
'What is it?'