ment, searching with their
eyes the man who had abused them. At this moment nothing was heard save
the deep sighs of the engines and the clanking of the rudder chains.

"Who's snarling there?" asked Kononov with a frown.

"We can't get along without scandals!" said Reznikov, with a contrite
sigh.

"Who was swearing here at random?"

The faces of the merchants mirrored alarm, curiosity, astonishment,
reproach, and all the people began to bustle about stupidly. Only
Yakov Tarasovich alone was calm and seemed even satisfied with what
had occurred. Rising on tiptoe, with his neck outstretched, he stared
somewhere toward the end of the table, and his eyes flashed strangely,
as though he saw there something which was pleasing to him.

"Gordyeeff," said Yona Yushkov, softly.

And all heads were turned toward the direction in which Yakov Tarasovich
was staring.

There, with his hands resting on the table, stood Foma. His face
distorted with wrath, his teeth firmly set together, he silently
surveyed the merchants with his burning, wide-open eyes. His lower jaw
was trembling, his shoulders were quivering, and the fingers of his
hands, firmly clutching the edge of the table, were nervously scratching
the tablecloth. At the sight of his wolf-like, angry face and his
wrathful pose, the merchants again became silent for a moment.

"What are you gaping at?" asked Foma, and again accompanied his question
with a violent oath.

"He's drunk!" said Bobrov, with a shake of the head.

"And why was he invited?" whispered Reznikov, softly.

"Foma Ignatyevich!" said Kononov, sedately, "you mustn't create
any scandals. If your head is reeling--go, my dear boy, quietly and
peacefully into the cabin and lie down! Lie down, and--"

"Silence, you!" roared Foma, and turned his eye at him. "Do not dare to
speak to me! I am not drunk. I am soberer than any one of you here! Do
you understand?"

"But wait awhile, my boy. Who invited you here?" asked Kononov,
reddening with offence.

"I brought him!" rang out Mayakin's voice.

"Ah! Well, then, of course. Excuse me, Foma Ignatyevich. But as you
brought him, Yakov, you ought to subdue him. Otherwise it's no good."

Foma maintained silence and smiled. And the merchants, too, were silent,
as they looked at him.

"Eh, Fomka!" began Mayakin. "Again you disgrace my old age."

"Godfather!" said Foma, showing his teeth, "I have not done anything as
yet, so it is rather early to read me a lec