A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES
motion, slowly buried its sting into his flabby flesh. The same red head with whiskers showed itself again at the door, looked in, looked again, and then came into the office, together with the rather ugly body belonging to it.
'Fedyushka! eh, Fedyushka! always asleep,' said the head.
The clerk on duty opened his eyes and got up from his seat.
'Nikolai Eremyitch has gone to the mistress?'
'Yes, Vassily Nikolaevitch.'
'Ah! ah!' thought I; 'this is he, the head cashier.'
The head cashier began walking about the room. He really slunk rather than walked, and altogether resembled a cat. An old black frock-coat with very narrow skirts hung about his shoulders; he kept one hand in his bosom, while the other was for ever fumbling about his high, narrow horsehair collar, and he turned his head with a certain effort. He wore noiseless kid boots, and trod very softly.
'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.
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