ing and making the sign of
the cross over his mouth. "How is business?"

"What sort of business are you talking about?" asked Solomon, and
he looked as fiendish, as though it were a hint of some crime on
his part.

"Oh, things in general. What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Solomon repeated, and he shrugged his shoulders.
"The same as everyone else. . . . You see, I am a menial, I am my
brother's servant; my brother's the servant of the visitors; the
visitors are Varlamov's servants; and if I had ten millions, Varlamov
would be my servant."

"Why would he be your servant?"

"Why, because there isn't a gentleman or millionaire who isn't ready
to lick the hand of a scabby Jew for the sake of making a kopeck.
Now, I am a scabby Jew and a beggar. Everybody looks at me as though
I were a dog, but if I had money Varlamov would play the fool before
me just as Moisey does before you."

Father Christopher and Kuzmitchov looked at each other. Neither of
them understood Solomon. Kuzmitchov looked at him sternly and dryly,
and asked:

"How can you compare yourself with Varlamov, you blockhead?"

"I am not such a fool as to put myself on a level with Varlamov,"
answered Solomon, looking sarcastically at the speaker. "Though
Varlamov is a Russian, he is at heart a scabby Jew; money and gain
are all he lives for, but I threw my money in the stove! I don't
want money, or land, or sheep, and there is no need for people to
be afraid of me and to take off their hats when I pass. So I am
wiser than your Varlamov and more like a man!"

A little later Yegorushka, half asleep, heard Solomon in a hoarse
hollow voice choked with hatred, in hurried stuttering phrases,
talking about the Jews. At first he talked correctly in Russian,
then he fell into the tone of a Jewish recitation, and began speaking
as he had done at the fair with an exaggerated Jewish accent.

"Stop! . . ." Father Christopher said to him. "If you don't like
your religion you had better change it, but to laugh at it is a
sin; it is only the lowest of the low who will make fun of his
religion."

"You don't understand," Solomon cut him short rudely. "I am talking
of one thing and you are talking of something else. . . ."

"One can see you are a foolish fellow," sighed Father Christopher.
"I admonish you to the best of my ability, and you are angry. I
speak to you like an old man quietly, and you answer like a turkeycock:
'Bla---bla---bla!' You really are a q