A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES
ing!' he added with a look at the window; 'speak of the devil. With your kind permission!' (He got up.)
Nikolai Eremyitch came into the counting-house. His face was shining with satisfaction, but he was rather taken aback at seeing Pavel Andreitch.
'Good day to you, Nikolai Eremyitch,' said Pavel in a significant tone, advancing deliberately to meet him.
The head-clerk made no reply. The face of the merchant showed itself in the doorway.
'What, won't you deign to answer me?' pursued Pavel. 'But no . . . no,' he added; 'that's not it; there's no getting anything by shouting and abuse. No, you'd better tell me in a friendly way, Nikolai Eremyitch; what do you persecute me for? what do you want to ruin me for? Come, speak, speak.'
'This is no fit place to come to an understanding with you,' the head-clerk answered in some agitation, 'and no fit time. But I must say I wonder at one thing: what makes you suppose I want to ruin you, or that I'm persecuting you? And if you come to that, how can I persecute you? You're not in my counting-house.'
'I should hope not,' answered Pavel; 'that would be the last straw! But why are you humbugging, Nikolai Eremyitch? . . . You understand me, you know.'
'No, I don't understand.'
'No, you do understand.'
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