ence is too much for me.
I am such a specimen of impudence--fit for a show! . . . You must
excuse me, Borenka. I tell you the truth, because I can't see your
angel face without emotion."

A minute passed in silence. The old man heaved a deep sigh and said:

"You might treat me to a glass of beer perhaps."

His son went out without a word, and again there was a sound of
whispering the other side of the door. When a little later the beer
was brought in, the old man seemed to revive at the sight of the
bottles and abruptly changed his tone.

"I was at the races the other day, my boy," he began telling him,
assuming a scared expression. "We were a party of three, and we
pooled three roubles on Frisky. And, thanks to that Frisky, we got
thirty-two roubles each for our rouble. I can't get on without the
races, my boy. It's a gentlemanly diversion. My virago always gives
me a dressing over the races, but I go. I love it, and that's all
about it."

Boris, a fair-haired young man with a melancholy immobile face, was
walking slowly up and down, listening in silence. When the old man
stopped to clear his throat, he went up to him and said:

"I bought myself a pair of boots the other day, father, which turn
out to be too tight for me. Won't you take them? I'll let you have
them cheap."

"If you like," said the old man with a grimace, "only for the price
you gave for them, without any cheapening."

"Very well, I'll let you have them on credit."

The son groped under the bed and produced the new boots. The father
took off his clumsy, rusty, evidently second-hand boots and began
trying on the new ones.

"A perfect fit," he said. "Right, let me keep them. And on Tuesday,
when I get my pension, I'll send you the money for them. That's not
true, though," he went on, suddenly falling into the same tearful
tone again. "And it was a lie about the races, too, and a lie about
the pension. And you are deceiving me, Borenka. . . . I feel your
generous tactfulness. I see through you! Your boots were too small,
because your heart is too big. Ah, Borenka, Borenka! I understand
it all and feel it!"

"Have you moved into new lodgings?" his son interrupted, to change
the conversation.

"Yes, my boy. I move every month. My virago can't stay long in the
same place with her temper."

"I went to your lodgings, I meant to ask you to stay here with me.
In your state of health it would do you good to be in the fresh
air."

"No," said th