and began to
spread over his veins in a hot wave. He drew back from the railing and
walked up to the table again, feeling that his cheeks were burning.

"Listen!" said the receiver, addressing him, "wire to your father asking
him to allow some grain for waste! Just see how much is lost here. And
here every pound is precious! You should have understood this! What a
fine father you have," he concluded with a biting grimace.

"How much shall I allow?" asked Foma, boldly and disdainfully. "Do
you want a hundred puds? [A pud is a weight of 40 Russian pounds.] Two
hundred?"

"I--I thank you!" exclaimed the receiver, overjoyed and confused, "if
you have the right to do it."

"I am the master!" said Foma, firmly. "And you must not speak that way
about my father--nor make such faces."

"Pardon me! I--I do not doubt that you have full power. I thank you
heartily. And your father, too--in behalf of all these men--in behalf of
the people!"

Yefim looked cautiously at the young master, spreading out and smacking
his lips, while the master with an air of pride on his face listened
to the quick-witted speech of the receiver, who was pressing his hand
firmly.

"Two hundred puds! That is Russian-like, young man! I shall directly
notify the peasants of your gift. You'll see how grateful they will
be--how glad." And he shouted down:

"Eh, boys! The master is giving away two hundred puds."

"Three hundred!" interposed Foma.

"Three hundred puds. Oh! Thank you! Three hundred puds of grain, boys!"

But their response was weak. The peasants lifted up their heads and
mutely lowered them again, resuming their work. A few voices said
irresolutely and as though unwillingly:

"Thanks. May God give you. We thank you very humbly."

And some cried out gaily and disdainfully:

"What's the use of that? If they had given each of us a glass of vodka
instead--that would be a just favour. For the grain is not for us--but
for the country Council."

"Eh! They do not understand!" exclaimed the receiver, confused. "I'll go
down and explain it to them."

And he disappeared. But the peasants' regard for his gift did not
interest Foma. He saw that the black eyes of the rosy-cheeked woman were
looking at him so strangely and pleasingly. They seemed to thank him
and caressingly beckoned him, and besides those eyes he saw nothing. The
woman was dressed like the city women. She wore shoes, a calico waist,
and over her black hair she had a peculi