“I say, suckling! Would you like a job tonight with me? Eh? Tell me quickly!”

“What sort of a job?” the lad asked him, distrustfully.

“What! What I set you. We’re going fishing. You’ll row the boat.”

“Well. Yes. All right. I don’t mind a job. Only there’s this. I don’t want to get into a mess with you. You’re so awfully deep. You’re rather shady.”

Chelkash felt a scalding sensation in his breast, and with cold anger he said in a low voice:

“And you’d better hold your tongue, whatever you think, or I’ll give you a tap on your nut that will make things light enough.”

He jumped up from his post, tugged at his mustache with his left hand, while his sinewy right hand was clenched into a fist, hard as iron, and his eyes gleamed.

The youth was frightened. He looked quickly round him, and blinking uneasily, he, too, jumped up from the ground. Measuring one another with their eyes, they were silent.

“Well?” Chelkash queried, sullenly. He was boiling inwardly, and trembling at the affront dealt him by this young calf, whom he had despised while he talked to him, but now hated all at once because he had such clear blue eyes, such a healthy sunburned face, and stubby, strong hands; because he had somewhere a village, a home in it, because a well-to-do peasant wanted him for a son-in-law, because of all his life, past and future, and most of all, because he-this babe compared with Chelkash—dared to love freedom, which he could not appreciate, nor need. It is always unpleasant to see that a man you regard as baser or lower than yourself likes or hates the same things, and so puts himself on a level with you.

The young peasant looked at Chelkash and saw in him an employer.

“Well,” he began, “I don’t mind. Why, it’s work I’m looking for. I don’t care whom I work for, you or any other man. I only meant that you don’t look like a working man—a bit too—ragged. Oh, I know that may happen to anyone. Good Lord, as though I’ve never seen drunkards! Lots of them! and worse than you, too.”

“All right, all right! Then you agree?” Chelkash said more amicably.

“I? Ye-es! With pleasure! Name your terms.”

“That’s according to the job. As the job turns out. According to our catch, that’s to say. Five rubles you may get. Do you see?”

But now it was a question of money, and in that the peasant wished to be precise, and demanded the same exactness from his employer. His distrust and suspicion revived.

“That’s not my way of doing business, mate!”

Chelkash threw himself into his part.

“Don’t argue, wait a bit! Come into the tavern.”

And they went down the street side by side, Chelkash with the dignified air of an employer, twisting his mustaches, the youth with an expression of absolute readiness to give way to him, but yet full of distrust and uneasiness.