IX.
Davýdka the White asked for grain and posts," it said in the note-book after Yukhvánka.
After passing several huts, Nekhlyúdov, in turning into a lane, met his steward, Yákov Alpátych, who, upon noticing his master at a distance, doffed his oilcloth cap, and, taking out his fulled handkerchief, began to wipe his fat, red face.
"Put it on, Yákov! Yákov, put it on, I tell you—"
"Where have you been, your Grace?" asked Yákov, protecting himself with his cap against the sun, but not donning it.
"I have been at Yukhvánka the Shrewd's. Tell me, if you please, what has made him so bad," said the master, continuing on his way.
"Why so, your Grace?" replied the manager, following the master at a respectful distance. He had put on his cap and was twirling his moustache.
"Why? He is a thorough scamp, a lazy man, a thief, a liar; he torments his mother, and, so far as I can see, he is such a confirmed good-for-nothing that he will never reform."
"I do not know, your Grace, why he has displeased you so much—"
"And his wife," the master interrupted his manager, "seems to be a worthless wench. The old woman is clad worse than a mendicant, and has nothing to eat, but she is all dressed up, and so is he. I really do not know what to do with them."
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