“Wonderful the young green crops this year, one may say,” he began again; “I’ve been going about everywhere admiring them. All the way from Voronezh they’ve come up wonderfully, first-class, one may say.” “The crops are pretty fair, certainly,” answered the head clerk; “but you know the saying, Gavrila Antonitch, autumn bids fair, but spring may be foul.” “That’s so, indeed, Nikolai Eremyitch; all is in God’s hands; it’s the absolute truth what you’ve just remarked, sir.--But perhaps your visitor’s awake now?” The fat man turned round--listened-- “No, he’s asleep. He may, though--” He went to the door. “No, he’s asleep,” he repeated, and went back to his place. “Well, so what are we to say, Nikolai Eremyitch?” the merchant began again; “we must bring our little business to a conclusion.--Let it be so, Nikolai Eremyitch, let it be so,” he went on, blinking incessantly; “two gray notes and a white for your favor, and there” (he nodded in the direction of the house), “six and a half. Done, eh?” “Four gray notes,” answered the clerk. “Come, three, then.” “Four grays and no white.” “Three, Nikolai Eremyitch.” “Three and a half, and not a farthing less.” “Three, Nikolai Eremyitch.” “You’re not talking sense, Gavrila Antonitch.” “My, what a pig-headed fellow!” muttered the merchant. “Then I’d better arrange it with the lady herself.” “That’s as you like,” answered the fat man; “far better, I should say. Why should you worry yourself, after all? Much better, indeed!” “Well, well! Nikolai Eremyitch. I lost my temper for a minute! That was nothing but talk.” “No, really, why--” “Nonsense, I tell you--I tell you I was joking. Well, take your three and a half; there’s no doing anything with you.” “I ought to have got four, but I was in too great a hurry--like an ass!” muttered the fat man. “Then up there at the house, six and a half, Nikolai Eremyitch; the corn will be sold for six and a half?” “Six and a half, as we said already.” “Well, your hand on that then, Nikolai Eremyitch.” The merchant clapped his outstretched fingers into the clerk’s palm. “And good-by, in God’s name!” The merchant got up. “So then, Nikolai Eremyitch, sir, I’ll go now to your lady, and bid them send up my name, and so I’ll say to her, ‘Nikolai Eremyitch,’ I’ll say, ‘has made a bargain with me for six and a half.’” “That’s what you must say, Gavrila Antonitch.” “And now, allow me.” The merchant handed the manager a small roll of notes, bowed, shook his head, picked up his hat with two fingers, shrugged his shoulders, and, with a sort of undulating motion, went out, his boots creaking after the approved fashion. Nikolai Eremyitch went to the wall, and, as far as I could make out, began sorting the notes handed him by the merchant. A red head, adorned with thick whiskers, was thrust in at the door. “Well?” asked the head; “all as it should be?” “Yes.” “How much?” The fat man made an angry gesture with his hand, and pointed to my room.