"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.

"What's your name?" asked Tchelkache.

"Gavrilo," replied the lad.

When they had entered the dirty and smoky ale-house Tchelkache went up
to the bar and ordered, in the familiar tone of a regular customer, a
bottle of brandy, cabbage soup, roast beef and tea, and, after
enumerating the order, said briefly: "to be charged!" To which the boy
responded by a silent nod. At this, Gavrilo was filled with great
respect for his master, who, despite his knavish exterior, was so well
known and treated with so much confidence.