chback waves his arms, swims up to Gerassim, and catches
hold of the twigs. At the first attempt to stand up, he goes into
the water over his head and begins blowing up bubbles.

"I told you it was deep," he says, rolling his eyes angrily. "Am I
to sit on your neck or what?"

"Stand on a root . . . there are a lot of roots like a ladder." The
hunchback gropes for a root with his heel, and tightly gripping
several twigs, stands on it. . . . Having got his balance, and
established himself in his new position, he bends down, and trying
not to get the water into his mouth, begins fumbling with his right
hand among the roots. Getting entangled among the weeds and slipping
on the mossy roots he finds his hand in contact with the sharp
pincers of a crayfish.

"As though we wanted to see you, you demon!" says Lubim, and he
angrily flings the crayfish on the bank.

At last his hand feels Gerassim' s arm, and groping its way along
it comes to something cold and slimy.

"Here he is!" says Lubim with a grin. "A fine fellow! Move your
fingers, I'll get him directly . . . by the gills. Stop, don't prod
me with your elbow. . . . I'll have him in a minute, in a minute,
only let me get hold of him. . . . The beggar has got a long way
under the roots, there is nothing to get hold of. . . . One can't
get to the head . . . one can only feel its belly . . . . kill that
gnat on my neck--it's stinging! I'll get him by the gills, directly
. . . . Come to one side and give him a push! Poke him with your
finger!"

The hunchback puffs out his cheeks, holds his breath, opens his
eyes wide, and apparently has already got his fingers in the gills,
but at that moment the twigs to which he is holding on with his
left hand break, and losing his balance he plops into the water!
Eddies race away from the bank as though frightened, and little
bubbles come up from the spot where he has fallen in. The hunchback
swims out and, snorting, clutches at the twigs.

"You'll be drowned next, you stupid, and I shall have to answer for
you," wheezes Gerassim. "Clamber out, the devil take you! I'll get
him out myself."

High words follow. . . . The sun is baking hot. The shadows begin
to grow shorter and to draw in on themselves, like the horns of a
snail. . . . The high grass warmed by the sun begins to give out a
strong, heavy smell of honey. It will soon be midday, and Gerassim
and Lubim are still floundering under the willow tree. The husky
bass and th