Mitia went to his mother. This was his last hope. His mother was very kind, and hardly ever refused him anything. She would probably have helped him this time also out of his trouble, but she was in great anxiety: her younger child, Petia, a boy of two, had fallen ill. She got angry with Mitia for rushing so noisily into the nursery, and refused him almost without listening to what he had to say. Mitia muttered something to himself and turned to go. The mother felt sorry for him. “Wait, Mitia,” she said; “I have not got the money you want now, but I will get it for you tomorrow.”
But Mitia was still raging against his father.
“What is the use of having it tomorrow, when I want it today? I am going to see a friend. That is all I have got to say.”
He went out, banging the door. …
“Nothing else is left to me. He will tell me how to pawn my watch,” he thought, touching his watch in his pocket.