"Vassily!" he shouts, turning towards the garden. "Vaska! Call Vassily to me!"
The coachman Vassily runs up. He is chewing something and breathing hard.
"Go into the water," the master orders him. "Help them to pull out that eel-pout. They can't get him out."
Vassily rapidly undresses and gets into the water.
"In a minute. . . . I'll get him in a minute," he mutters. "Where's the eel-pout? We'll have him out in a trice! You'd better go, Yefim. An old man like you ought to be minding his own business instead of being here. Where's that eel-pout? I'll have him in a minute. . . . Here he is! Let go."
"What's the good of saying that? We know all about that! You get it out!"
"But there is no getting it out like this! One must get hold of it by the head."
"And the head is under the root! We know that, you fool!"
"Now then, don't talk or you'll catch it! You dirty cur!"
"Before the master to use such language," mutters Yefim. "You won't get him out, lads! He's fixed himself much too cleverly!"
"Wait a minute, I'll come directly," says the master, and he begins hurriedly undressing. "Four fools, and can't get an eel-pout!"
When he is undressed, Andrey Andreitch gives himself time to cool and gets into the water. But even his interference leads to nothing.
