"Go to the devil!"
His comrade turned back.
"Wait a bit! What are you so stuck-up about? Look how they've spoiled the whole show! I don't see Mike here!"
"Haven't seen him for a long time," said the other, going back to his companions.
Chelkash went on further, greeted by everyone like a man well-known. And he, always merry with a biting repartee, to-day was evidently not in a good humour, and gave abrupt and snappy answers.
At one point a custom-house officer, a dusty, dark-green man with the upright carriage of a soldier, emerged from behind a pile of goods. He barred Chelkash's way, standing in front of him with a challenging pose and seizing with his left hand the handle of his dirk, tried to collar Chelkash with his right.
"Halt! whither are you going?"
Chelkash took a step backwards, raised his eyes to the level of the custom-house officer, and smiled drily.
The ruddy, good-humouredly-cunning face of the official tried to assume a threatening look, puffing out its cheeks till they were round and bloated, contracting its brows and goggling its eyes—and was supremely ridiculous in consequence.
"You have been told that you are not to dare to enter the haven, or I'd break your ribs for you. And here you are again!" cried the guardian of the customs threateningly.