“An eelpout?” 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 eelpout, 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 eelpout. 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 eelpout? 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 eelpout? 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!”