“Makatyuk!” shouted the captain to his orderly, “get me the money-box and bring it here.”
“Hush, not so loud,” I said, listening to Guskov’s measured footsteps outside the tent.
“What! … Why not so loud?”
“Oh, that fellow in the ranks asked me for a loan. He’s just outside.”
“If I had known that, I would not have given it you,” remarked the captain. “I have heard about him, he’s the dirtiest young scamp.”
Still the captain let me have the money all the same, ordered the money-box to be put away and the tent properly closed, and again repeating, “If I had known what it was for, I would not have given it you,” he wrapped himself, head and all, in his blanket. “Remember you owe me thirty-two now!” he shouted after me.
When I came out of the tent Guskov was pacing up and down in front of the little seats, his short bandy-legged figure in the ugly cap with the long white wool, disappearing in the darkness and reappearing as he passed in and out of the candlelight. He pretended not to notice me. I gave him the paper-money. He said “ Merci! ” and crumpling it up he put it in his trousers-pocket.
“I suppose play is in full swing at Paul Dmitrich’s now!” he then began.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“He plays so queerly, always à rebours , and does not hedge. When you have luck it is all right, but then, when it goes against you, you may lose terribly. He is a proof of it. On this expedition he has lost more than fifteen hundred rubles, counting the things he has lost. And with what self-control he used to play formerly! So that that officer of yours seemed even to doubt his honour.”