'The lad's growing up. He must begin to plough for himself, but till now
we've always had to hire someone,' he said.

'Well, why not have the lean-cruppered one. I won't charge much for it,'
shouted Vasili Andreevich, feeling animated, and consequently starting
on his favourite occupation--that of horse-dealing--which absorbed all
his mental powers.

'Or you might let me have fifteen rubles and I'll buy one at the
horse-market,' said Nikita, who knew that the horse Vasili Andreevich
wanted to sell him would be dear at seven rubles, but that if he took it
from him it would be charged at twenty-five, and then he would be unable
to draw any money for half a year.

'It's a good horse. I think of your interest as of my own--according to
conscience. Brekhunov isn't a man to wrong anyone. Let the loss be mine.
I'm not like others. Honestly!' he shouted in the voice in which he
hypnotized his customers and dealers. 'It's a real good horse.'

'Quite so!' said Nikita with a sigh, and convinced that there was
nothing more to listen to, he again released his collar, which
immediately covered his ear and face.

They drove on in silence for about half an hour. The wind blew sharply
onto Nikita's side and arm where his sheepskin was torn.

He huddled up and breathed into the collar which covered his mouth, and
was not wholly cold.