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The day had begun by her master Luka Alexandritch's putting on his hat, taking something wooden under his arm wrapped up in a red handkerchief, and calling: "Kashtanka, come along!" Hearing her name the mongrel had come out from under the work-table, where she slept on the shavings, stretched herself voluptuously and run after her master.
"Those are Pavel Alexandritch's boots," he grumbled, squinting at them. He squinted with the left eye. "What Pavel Alexandritch?" "The actor; he comes here every Tuesday. . . . He must have put on yours instead of his own. . . . So I must have put both pairs in her room, his and yours. Here's a go!" "Then go and change them!"
They wrote little notes, folded them in two, and put them in Nikodim Alexandritch's old top-hat. When there were a sufficient heap of notes, Kostya, who acted the part of postman, walked round the table and delivered them. The deacon, Katya, and Kostya, who received amusing notes and tried to write as funnily as they could, were highly delighted.
He waited for a favourable moment and said to Samoylenko: "Excuse me, Alexandr Daviditch, I must say two words to you." Samoylenko got up, put his arm round Laevsky's waist, and both of them went into Nikodim Alexandritch's study. "To-morrow's Friday," said Laevsky, biting his nails. "Have you got what you promised?" "I've only got two hundred. I'll get the rest to-day or to-morrow.
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