“With three kopecks interest makes ten,” the Jew went on jerkily in a shaking voice, putting his hand in his pocket for the money and looking timidly at the convicts. He was fearfully scared, and at the same time he wanted to do business.

“Three kopecks a year interest, I suppose?”

“No, not a year, a month.”

“You are a tight customer, Jew! What’s your name.”

“Isay Fomitch.”

“Well, Isay Fomitch, you’ll get on finely here! Goodbye.”

Isay Fomitch examined the pledge once more, folded it up carefully and put it in his sack in the midst of the still laughing convicts.