"Catching a fish," mutters Yefim, without raising his head.

"I'll give it to you! The beasts are in the garden and he is fishing!
. . . When will that bathing shed be done, you devils? You've been
at work two days, and what is there to show for it?"

"It . . . will soon be done," grunts Gerassim; summer is long,
you'll have plenty of time to wash, your honour. . . . Pfrrr! . . .
We can't manage this eel-pout here anyhow. . . . He's got under
a root and sits there as if he were in a hole and won't budge one
way or another . . . ."

"An eel-pout?" says the master, and his eyes begin to glisten. "Get
him out quickly then."

"You'll give us half a rouble for it presently if we oblige you
. . . . A huge eel-pout, as fat as a merchant's wife. . . . It's worth
half a rouble, your honour, for the trouble. . . . Don't squeeze
him, Lubim, don't squeeze him, you'll spoil him! Push him up from
below! Pull the root upwards, my good man . . . what's your name?
Upwards, not downwards, you brute! Don't swing your legs!"

Five minutes pass, ten. . . . The master loses all patience.

"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.

"We must chop the root off," Lubim decides at last. "Gerassim, go
and ge