Hurriedly, as hurriedly as it is possible to imagine it, he descended the staircase, imprinting the marks of his wet footsteps on the stairs, on arriving below he stopped short, and began to scratch the back of his head for a considerable rime.
What this scratching of his head meant, or what it in general was meant for, is difficult to say, but it is a characteristic trait of persons in his condition. Was it the disappointment, that he would not be able to go the next evening once more with his brother servant across the street to the cellar like imperial dram-shop, or had it, perhaps, happened that he had already succeeded during their protracted sojourn in Smolensk, in forming a tender attachment of the heart with some neighbour's kitchen-maid, and that he would have to bid farewell to his fair girl, and that there would be an end to their tender conversation before the gate, where with his balalaika in his hand he used to give her an evening song.
Or, again was he simply sorry to leave a place to which he had just begun to accustom himself, and feel cozy and comfortable near the kitchen fire wrapped in his greasy sheep-skin, eating porridge and sour cabbage soup with fat meat-pies; leave all these comforts for the purpose of travelling again in rain and storm, and be tossed about on his master's britchka?
Heaven alone knows what it meant, but it has many and innumerable meanings with the Russian people, when they begin to scratch the back of their head.
[CHAPTER XXV.]
Nothing, however, of all that Tchichikoff had projected on the preceding evening, so happened on the following morning. In the first instance, he awoke considerably later than he wished; this was the first annoyance. Scarcely had he risen from his couch, when he sent immediately to inquire whether the horses were harnessed and before the britchka, and whether all was ready for his departure, but he was informed that neither the horses nor the britchka, nor anything was ready for his immediate departure. This was the second annoyance.
He flew into a violent passion, and had first, the intention of treating our friend Selifan to something in the Russian fashion, for the disregard thus shown to his orders, however he preferred waiting impatiently to hear first what excuse he would come to offer. Soon after, Selifan made his appearance in the room, and his lord and master had the gratification of listening to the same language which is usually spoken by servants on similar occasions, when their masters are in a hurry to start on their journey without delay.
"Your glory, I must inform you that the horses will require to be shod."
"Oh, you pig! you stupid blockhead! and why have you hot told me of this before? Had you no time to do it?"