THE COUNTING-HOUSE
'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.
'Forget whom I'm talking about? What do I care for his being made head-clerk? A fine person they've found to promote, there's no denying that! They've let the goat loose in the kitchen garden, you may say!'
'Hush, hush, Pavel Andreitch, hush! drop that . . . what rubbish are you talking?'
'So Master Fox is beginning to fawn? I will wait for him,' Pavel said with passion, and he struck a blow on the table. 'Ah, here he's com-
