hook and his eyes smarted. He wrote that he was old, and no
use to anyone and that nobody loved him, and he begged his daughters
to forget him, and when he died to bury him in a plain, deal coffin
without ceremony, or to send his body to Harkov to the dissecting
theatre. He felt that every line he wrote reeked of malice and
affectation, but he could not stop, and went on writing and writing.

"The toad!" he suddenly heard from the next room; it was the voice
of his elder daughter, a voice with a hiss of indignation. "The
toad!"

"The toad!" the younger one repeated like an echo. "The toad!"

A FATHER

"I ADMIT I have had a drop. . . . You must excuse me. I went into
a beer shop on the way here, and as it was so hot had a couple of
bottles. It's hot, my boy."

Old Musatov took a nondescript rag out of his pocket and wiped his
shaven, battered face with it.

"I have come only for a minute, Borenka, my angel," he went on, not
looking at his son, "about something very important. Excuse me,
perhaps I am hindering you. Haven't you ten roubles, my dear, you
could let me have till Tuesday? You see, I ought to have paid for
my lodging yesterday, and money, you see! . . . None! Not to save
my life!"

Young Musatov went out without a word, and began whispering the
other side of the door with the landlady of the summer villa and
his colleagues who had taken the villa with him. Three minutes later
he came back, and without a word gave his father a ten-rouble note.
The latter thrust it carelessly into his pocket without looking at
it, and said:

"_Merci._ Well, how are you getting on? It's a long time since we
met."

"Yes, a long time, not since Easter."

"Half a dozen times I have been meaning to come to you, but I've
never had time. First one thing, then another. . . . It's simply
awful! I am talking nonsense though. . . . All that's nonsense.
Don't you believe me, Borenka. I said I would pay you back the ten
roubles on Tuesday, don't believe that either. Don't believe a word
I say. I have nothing to do at all, it's simply laziness, drunkenness,
and I am ashamed to be seen in such clothes in the street. You must
excuse me, Borenka. Here I have sent the girl to you three times
for money and written you piteous letters. Thanks for the money,
but don't believe the letters; I was telling fibs. I am ashamed to
rob you, my angel; I know that you can scarcely make both ends meet
yourself, and feed on locusts, but my impud