"Why . . ." said he; "I consent. I'm willing. It's work that I'm
looking for. It's all the same to me whether I work with you or
someone else. I only said that because you don't seem like a man that
works . . . you are far too ragged. However, I know very well that
that may happen to anyone. Have I never seen a drunkard? Eh! How
many I've seen, and much worse than you!"
"Good! Then you consent?" asked Tchelkache, somewhat mollified.
"I, why yes, with pleasure. Name your price."
"My price depends upon the work. It's according to what we do and
take. You may perhaps receive five rubles. Do you understand?"
But now that it was a question of money, the peasant wanted a clear
understanding and exacted perfect frankness on the part of his master.
He again became distrustful and suspicious.
"That's scarcely to my mind, friend. I must have those five rubles in
my hand how."
Tchelkache humored him.
"Enough said, wait a little. Let us go to the tavern."
They walked side by side along the street; Tchelkache twisting his
moustache with the important air of an employer, the lad submissively,
but at the same time filled with distrust and fear.
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