he expected the dinner to be served at
once, but he was told it was not ready. He banged the door and went to
his study. Somebody knocked at the door. "Who the devil is that?" he
thought; and shouted,--"Who is there?"

The door opened and a boy of fifteen came in, the son of Fedor
Mihailovich, a pupil of the fifth class of the local school.

"What do you want?"

"It is the first of the month to-day, father."

"Well! You want your money?"

It had been arranged that the father should pay his son a monthly
allowance of three roubles as pocket money. Fedor Mihailovich frowned,
took out of his pocket-book a coupon of two roubles fifty kopeks which
he found among the bank-notes, and added to it fifty kopeks in silver
out of the loose change in his purse. The boy kept silent, and did not
take the money his father proffered him.

"Father, please give me some more in advance."

"What?"

"I would not ask for it, but I have borrowed a small sum from a friend,
and promised upon my word of honour to pay it off. My honour is dear to
me, and that is why I want another three roubles. I don't like asking
you; but, please, father, give me another three roubles."

"I have told you--"

"I know, father, but just for once."

"You have an allowance of three roubles and you ought to be content. I
had not fifty kopeks when I was your age."

"Now, all my comrades have much more. Petrov and Ivanitsky have fifty
roubles a month."

"And I tell you that if you behave like them you will be a scoundrel.
Mind that."

"What is there to mind? You never understand my position. I shall be
disgraced if I don't pay my debt. It is all very well for you to speak
as you do."

"Be off, you silly boy! Be off!"

Fedor Mihailovich jumped from his seat and pounced upon his son. "Be
off, I say!" he shouted. "You deserve a good thrashing, all you boys!"

His son was at once frightened and embittered. The bitterness was even
greater than the fright. With his head bent down he hastily turned to
the door. Fedor Mihailovich did not intend to strike him, but he was
glad to vent his wrath, and went on shouting and abusing the boy till he
had closed the door.

When the maid came in to announce that dinner was ready, Fedor
Mihailovich rose.

"At last!" he said. "I don't feel hungry any longer."

He went to the dining-room with a sullen face. At table his wife made
some remark, but he gave her such a short and angry answer that she
abstained from fu