"Go to the devil!"
The other turned on his heel.
"Hey! Wait!—Who has fixed you up in that fashion? Your face is all bruised—Have you seen Michka around here?"
"I haven't seen him for a long time!" cried the other, rejoining the 'longshoremen.
Tchelkache continued on his way, greeted in a friendly manner by all. But he, usually so ready with merry word or biting jest, was evidently out of sorts to-day, and answered all questions briefly.
Behind a bale of merchandise appeared a custom-house officer, standing in his dark-green, dusty uniform with military erectness. He barred Tchelkache's way, placing himself before him in an offensive attitude, his left hand on his sword, and reached out his right hand to take Tchelkache by the collar.
"Stop, where are you going?"
Tchelkache fell back a step, looked at the officer and smiled drily.
The red, cunning and good-natured face of the custom-house officer was making an effort to appear terrible; with the result that swollen and purple, with wrinkling eyebrows and bulging eyes, it only succeeded in being funny.
"You've been warned before: don't you dare to come upon the wharf, or
I'll break every rib in your body!" fiercely exclaimed the officer.