Old Kólya recognized his wife as she came up trundling the squeaking barrow, and wondering thrust his head out at the kitchen door.
"Is that you, Boris?"
"It is: you might see, if you had eyes."
"You've come back?"
Instead of replying Mistress Boris bawled to her husband.
"Take one end of this trunk and help me to drag it in. Take hold now. Do you think I came here to admire your finely curled moustache?"
"Well, why else did you come, Boris?" said the old man very phlegmatically, without so much as taking his hand from behind his back.
"You want to quarrel with me again, I see; well, let's be over with it quickly: take a stick and beat me, then let us talk sense."
At this Kólya took pity on his wife and helped her to drag the trunk in.
"I am no longer such a quarreller, Boris," he answered. "Ever since I became a man with a responsible position I have never annoyed anyone. I am a watchman."