“The landowner, Yagushkin, was asking for you to-day,” added the clerk on duty.
“Hm, asking for me? What did he say?”
“Said he’d go to Tyutyurov this evening and would wait for you. ‘I want to discuss some business with Vassily Nikolaevitch,’ said he, but what the business was he didn’t say; ‘Vassily Nikolaevitch will know,’ says he.”
“Hm!” replied the head cashier, and he went up to the window.
“Is Nikolai Eremyitch in the counting-house?” a loud voice was heard asking in the outer room, and a tall man, apparently angry, with an irregular but bold and expressive face, and rather clean in his dress, stepped over the threshold.
“Isn’t he here?” he inquired, looking rapidly round.
“Nikolai Eremyitch is with the mistress,” responded the cashier. “Tell me what you want, Pavel Andreitch; you can tell me.—What is it you want?”
“What do I want? You want to know what I want?” The cashier gave a sickly nod. “I want to give him a lesson, the fat, greasy villain, the scoundrelly tell-tale!—I’ll give him a tale to tell!”
Pavel flung himself into a chair.
“What are you saying, Pavel Andreitch! Calm yourself.—Aren’t you ashamed? Don’t forget whom you’re talking about, Pavel Andreitch!” lisped the cashier.