THE COUNTING-HOUSE
and began busily playing with the reckoning beads.
'Our . . . peasants . . . Nikolai Eremyitch . . .' Sidor began at last, hesitating over each word; 'sent word to your honour . . . there is . . . see here . . .' (He thrust his big hand into the bosom of his coat, and began to pull out a folded linen kerchief with a red border.)
'What are you thinking of? Goodness, idiot, are you out of your senses?' the fat man interposed hurriedly. 'Go on; go to my cottage,' he continued, almost shoving the bewildered peasant out; 'ask for my wife there . . . she'll give you some tea; I'll be round directly; go on. For goodness' sake, I tell you, go on.'
Sidor went away.
'Ugh! . . . what a bear!' the head clerk muttered after him, shaking his head, and set to work again on his reckoning frame.
Suddenly shouts of 'Kuprya! Kuprya! there's no knocking down Kuprya!' were heard in the street and on the steps, and a little later there came into the counting-house a small man of sickly appearance, with an extraordinarily long nose and large staring eyes, who carried himself with a great air of superiority. He was dressed in a ragged little old surtout, with a plush collar and diminutive buttons. He carried a bundle of firewood on his shoulder. Five house-serfs were crowding round him, all shouting, 'Kuprya! there's no suppressing Kuprya! Kuprya's been
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