A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES
me, my dear sir; you see I'm old-fashioned.' (Mr. Tchornobai spoke with deliberation, and in a broad Doric.) 'Everything with me is done in a plain way, you know. . . . Nazar, hey, Nazar!' he added, not raising his voice, but prolonging each syllable.
Nazar, a wrinkled old man with a little hawk nose and a wedge-shaped beard, showed himself at the stable door.
'What sort of horses is it you're wanting, my dear sir?' resumed Mr. Tchornobai.
'Not too expensive; for driving in my covered gig.'
'To be sure . . . we have got them to suit you, to be sure. . . . Nazar, Nazar, show the gentleman the grey gelding, you know, that stands at the farthest corner, and the sorrel with the star, or else the other sorrel—foal of Beauty, you know.'
'Nazar went back to the stable.
'And bring them out by their halters just as they are,' Mr. Tchornobai shouted after him. 'You won't find things with me, my good sir,' he went on, with a clear mild gaze into my face, 'as they are with the horse-dealers; confound their tricks! There are drugs of all sorts go in there, salt and malted grains; God forgive them! But with me, you will see, sir, everything's above-board; no underhandedness.'
The horses were led in; I did not care for them.
'Well, well, take them back, in God's name,' said Anastasei Ivanitch. 'Show us the others.'
Others were shown. At last I picked out one, rather a cheap one. We began to haggle over the price. Mr. Tchornobai did not get excited; he
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