"Grune!"
"Hush! What is it? What makes you call out in that strange voice?" asked Grune, crossly, running in.
"Well, well, let me live!" said the cantor. "Why do you say 'in that strange voice'? Whose voice was it? eh? What is the matter now?"
There was a sound as of tears as he spoke.
"You're cracked to-day! As nonsensical—Well, what do you want?"
"Beat up one or two eggs for me!" begged the cantor, softly.
"Here's a new holiday!" screamed Grune. "On a Wednesday! Have you got to chant the Sabbath prayers? Eggs are so dear now—five kopeks apiece!"
"Grune," commanded the cantor, "they may be one ruble apiece, two rubles, five rubles, one hundred rubles. Do you hear? Beat up two eggs for me, and don't talk!"
"To be sure, you earn so much money!" muttered Grune.
"Then you think it's all over with me?" said the cantor, boldly. "No, Grune!"