"Well, go and give notice."
"No, I shan't go. I'm not fond of those gentry!" said Tiapa gloomily.
"Well, go and wake the deacon, and I'll go and see what can be done."
"Yes, that's better. Get up, deacon!"
The captain entered the doss-house, and stood at the foot of the bunk where lay the schoolmaster, stretched out at full length; his left hand lay on his breast, his right was thrown backwards, as if ready to strike. The idea crossed the captain's mind that if the schoolmaster were to get up now, he would be as tall as "Tarass and a half." Then he sat down on the bunk at the feet of his dead friend, and recalling to his mind the fact that they had lived together for three long years, he sighed.
Tiapa entered, holding his head like a goat ready to butt. He placed himself on the opposite side of the schoolmaster, watching for a time his sunk, serene, and calm face; then hissed out—
"Sure enough he is dead; it won't be long before I go also."
"It's time you did," said the captain gloomily.
"That's so!" agreed Tiapa. "And you also—you ought to die; it would be better than living on as you are doing."
"It might be worse. What do you know about it?"