“Have you been wrecked?”
“No, God saved us.”
“Burned up? Well, speak more quickly.”
Yefim drew air into his chest and said slowly:
“Barge No. 9 was sunk—smashed up. One man’s back was broken, and one is altogether missing, so that he must have drowned. About five more were injured, but not so very badly, though some were disabled.”
“So-o!” drawled out Mayakin, measuring the captain with an ill-omened look.
“Well, Yefimushka, I’ll strip your skin off.”
“It wasn’t I who did it!” said Yefim, quickly.
“Not you?” cried the old man, shaking with rage. “Who then?”
“The master himself.”