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Updated: June 26, 2025
Yakov Tarasovich closed his eyes, chewed a little with his lips, and, turning aside from his godson, kept silent for awhile. The carriage turned into a narrow street, and, noticing from afar the roof of his house, Foma involuntarily moved forward. At the same time Mayakin asked him with a roguish and gentle smile: "Foma! Tell me on whom you have sharpened your teeth? Eh?"
The wrinkles of his face were painfully quivering, and it seemed to Lubov that her father was about to weep. "Calm yourself, papa!" she entreated caressingly. "Maybe the loss isn't so great." "Not great?" cried Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice. "What do you understand, you fool? Is it only that the barge was smashed? Eh, you! A man is lost! That's what it is! And he is essential to me!
Yakov Tarasovich looked at her, moved his lips, and suddenly striking Foma's knee with his hand, he said to him: "That's the way, my godson! Think." Foma responded with a smile and thought: "But he's clever cleverer than my father." But another voice within him immediately replied: "Cleverer, but worse."
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.
"Brethren! Let us have some speeches!" "Musicians, bush!" "Come up to the bank and I'll explain to you why I didn't discount it." "A speech! Silence!" "Musicians, cease playing!" "Strike up 'In the Meadows." "Madame Angot!" "No! Yakov Tarasovich, we beg of you!" "That's called Strassburg pastry." "We beg of you! We beg of you!" "Pastry? It doesn't look like it, but I'll taste it all the same."
"Blessed is the road where this soul goeth today," Yakov Tarasovich hummed softly, moving his nose, and he again whispered in his godson's ear: "Seventy-five thousand roubles is such a sum that you can demand so many escorts for it. Have you heard that Sonka is making arrangements for the laying of the corner-stone on the fifteenth? Just forty days after the death of your father."
"I have drank only two glasses. I was perfectly sober." "Consequently," said Bobrov, "you are right, Yakov Tarasovich, he is insane." "I?" exclaimed Foma. But they paid no attention to him. Reznikov, Zubov and Bobrov leaned over to Mayakin and began to talk in low tones. "Guardianship!" Foma's ears caught this one word.
Turning around, Lubov noticed the captain of the "Yermak," Yefim, coming along the garden path. He had respectfully removed his cap and bowed to her. There was a hopelessly guilty expression on his face and he seemed abashed. Yakov Tarasovich recognized him and, instantly grown alarmed, he cried: "Where are you coming from? What has happened?"
I love it. I love you, too. Never mind, you're a good fellow!" said Mayakin, softly, and as though out of breath. "Do not love me, but teach me. But then, you cannot teach me the right thing!" said Foma, as he turned his back on the old man and left the hall. Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin remained in the tavern alone.
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.
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