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"
"Wait a little."
"Eh, my lad, I will not wait! You are not your father. Youngsters
like you, milksops, are an unreliable lot. In a month you may break
up the whole business. And I would be the loser for it. You give me
all the money tomorrow, or I'll protest the notes. It wouldn't take
me long to do it!"
Foma looked at Shchurov, with astonishment. It was not at all that
same old man, who but a moment ago spoke so sagaciously about the
devil. Then his face and his eyes seemed different, and now he
looked fierce, his lips smiled pitilessly, and the veins on his
cheeks, near his nostrils, were eagerly trembling. Foma saw that if
he did not pay him at once, Shchurov would indeed not spare him and
would dishonour the firm by protesting the notes.
"Evidently business is poor?" grinned Shchurov. "Well, tell the
truth--where have you squandered your father's money?"
Foma wanted to test the old man:
"Business is none too brisk," said he, with a frown. "We have no
contracts. We have received no earnest money, and so it is rather
hard.


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