"I? Ye-es! With pleasure! Name your terms."
"That's according to the job. As the job turns out.
According to the job. Five roubles you may get.
Do you see?"
But now it was a question of money, and in that the peasant wished to be precise, and demanded the same exactness from his employer. His distrust and suspicion revived.
"That's not my way of doing business, mate! A bird in the hand for me."
Chelkash threw himself into his part.
"Don't argue, wait a bit! Come into the restaurant."
And they went down the street side by side, Chelkash with the dignified air of an employer, twisting his mustaches, the youth with an expression of absolute readiness to give way to him, but yet full of distrust and uneasiness.
"And what's your name?" asked Chelkash.
"Gavrilo!" answered the youth.
When they had come into the dirty and smoky eating-house, and Chelkash going up to the counter, in the familiar tone of an habitual customer, ordered a bottle of vodka, cabbage soup, a cut from the joint, and tea, and reckoning up his order, flung the waiter a brief "put it all down!" to which the waiter nodded in silence,—Gavrilo was at once filled with respect for this ragamuffin, his employer, who enjoyed here such an established and confident position.