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Sharov stepped out of the house, seated himself in the sleigh, and the horses galloped off. He attended to his business in town and returned home. Yegor, observing that his master was in a good humour, said to him: "Yegor Fiodorych, I have a favour to ask of you." "What is it?" "There's a young man from my village here, a good boy He's without a job." "Well?" "Wouldn't you take him?"
The man was coachman to a merchant by the name of Sharov, in whose service he had been for many years. He had ingratiated himself with his master, so that Sharov trusted him absolutely and gave every sign of holding him in high favour. It was the man's glib tongue, chiefly, that had gained him his master's confidence. He told on all the servants, and Sharov valued him for it.
He was eager for a decision; but under the compulsion of politeness to his host, he gulped down two glasses of tea, and then they betook themselves to Sharov. Sharov asked Gerasim where he had lived before end what work he could do. Then he told him he was prepared to engage him as man of all work, and he should come back the next day ready to take the place.
In these days there aren't any employers like that, and we aren't exactly angels, either." "What's the use of wasting words? I just want to tell you about myself. If for some reason or other I should ever have to leave this place and go home, not only would Mr. Sharov, if I came back, take me on again without a word, but he would be glad to, too." Gerasim sat there downcast.
Sharov reflected. "All right," he said finally. "Bring your friend here. I'll see what I can do." "Do take him, sir. I'm so sorry for him. He's a good boy, and he's been without work for such a long time. I know he'll do his work well and serve you faithfully. On account of having to report for military duty, he lost his last position.
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