Suddenly Mr. Golyadkin started. The red and perfectly sopping beard of the cabman appeared round the woodstack again . . . .
“I am coming directly, my friend. I’m coming at once, you know,” Mr. Golyadkin responded in a trembling and failing voice.
The cabman scratched his head, then stroked his beard, and moved a step forward . . . stood still and looked suspiciously at Mr. Golyadkin.
“I am coming directly, my friend; you see, my friend . . . I . . . just a little, you see, only a second! . . . more . . . here, you see, my friend . . . .”
“Aren’t you coming at all?” the cabman asked at last, definitely coming up to Mr. Golyadkin.
“No, my friend, I’m coming directly. I am waiting, you see, my friend . . . .”
“So I see … ”
“You see, my friend, I . . . What part of the country do you c
