“Father, please give me some more in advance.”
“What?”
“I would not ask for it, but I have borrowed a small sum from a friend, and promised upon my word of honour to pay it off. My honour is dear to me, and that is why I want another three roubles. I don’t like asking you; but, please, father, give me another three roubles.”
“I have told you—”
“I know, father, but just for once.”
“You have an allowance of three roubles and you ought to be content. I had not fifty kopecks when I was your age.”
“Now, all my comrades have much more. Petrov and Ivanitsky have fifty roubles a month.”
“And I tell you that if you behave like them you will be a scoundrel. Mind that.”
“What is there to mind? You never understand my position. I shall be disgraced if I don’t pay my debt. It is all very well for you to speak as you do.”
“Be off, you silly boy! Be off!”
Fedor Mihailovich jumped from his seat and pounced upon his son. “Be off, I say!” he shouted. “You deserve a good thrashing, all you boys!”
His son was at once frightened and embittered. The bitterness was even greater than the fright. With his head bent down he hastily turned to the door. Fedor Mihailovich did not intend to strike him, but he was glad to vent his wrath, and went on shouting and abusing the boy till he had closed the door.