“Go to the devil!”

The other turned on his heel.

“Hey!  Wait!—­Who has fixed you up in that fashion?  Your face is all bruised—­Have you seen Michka around here?”

“I haven’t seen him for a long time!” cried the other, rejoining the ’longshoremen.

Tchelkache continued on his way, greeted in a friendly manner by all.  But he, usually so ready with merry word or biting jest, was evidently out of sorts to-day, and answered all questions briefly.

Behind a bale of merchandise appeared a custom-house officer, standing in his dark-green, dusty uniform with military erectness.  He barred Tchelkache’s way, placing himself before him in an offensive attitude, his left hand on his sword, and reached out his right hand to take Tchelkache by the collar.

“Stop, where are you going?”

Tchelkache fell back a step, looked at the officer and smiled drily.

The red, cunning and good-natured face of the custom-house officer was making an effort to appear terrible; with the result that swollen and purple, with wrinkling eyebrows and bulging eyes, it only succeeded in being funny.

“You’ve been warned before:  don’t you dare to come upon the wharf, or I’ll break every rib in your body!” fiercely exclaimed the officer.

“How do you do, Semenitch!  I haven’t seen you for a long time,” quietly replied Tchelkache, extending his hand.

“I could get along without ever seeing you!  Go about your business!”

However, Semenitch shook the hand that was extended to him.

“You’re just the one I want to see,” pursued Tchelkache, without loosening the hold of his hooked fingers on Semenitch’s hand, and shaking it familiarly.  “Have you seen Michka?”

“What Michka?  I don’t know any Michka!  Get along with you, friend, or the inspector’ll see you; he—­”

“The red-haired fellow who used to work with me on board the ‘Kostroma,’” continued Tchelkache, unmoved.

“Who stole with you would be nearer the truth!  Your Michka has been sent to the hospital:  his leg was crushed under a bar of iron.  Go on, friend, take my advice or else I shall have to beat you.”

“Ah!—­And you were saying:  I don’t know Michka!  You see that you do know him.  What’s put you out, Semenitch?”

“Enough, Grichka, say no more and off with you—­”

The officer was getting angry and, darting apprehensive glances on either side, tried to free his hand from the firm grasp of Tchelkache.  The last named looked at him calmly from under his heavy eyebrows, while a slight smile curved his lips, and without releasing his hold of the officer’s hand, continued talking.

“Don’t hurry me.  When I’m through talking to you I’ll go.  Tell me how you’re getting on.  Are your wife and children well?”

Accompanying his words with a terrible glance, and showing his teeth in a mocking grin, he added: