"What? Why hush?"
"Because that cashiered fellow has asked to borrow it of me. He's right
there."
"Well, if you knew him, you wouldn't let him have it," remarked the
captain. "I have heard about him. He's a dirty, low-lived fellow."
Nevertheless, the captain gave me the money, ordered his man to put away
the bag, pulled the flap of the tent neatly to, and, again saying, "If
you only knew him, you wouldn't let him have it," drew his head down
under the coverlet. "Now you owe me thirty-two, remember," he shouted
after me.
When I came out of the tent, Guskof was walking near the settees; and
his slight figure, with his crooked legs, his shapeless cap, his long
white hair, kept appearing and disappearing in the darkness, as he
passed in and out of the light of the candles. He made believe not to
see me.
I handed him the money. He said "Merci," and, crumpling the bank-bill,
thrust it into his trousers pocket.
"Now I suppose the game is in full swing at the adjutant's," he began
immediately after this.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"He's a wonderful player, always bold, and never backs out. When he's in
luck, it's fine; but when it does not go well with him, he can lose
frightfully.
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