ed beard.
If his beard shakes when he talks and he gets cross, it's all right, he is
saying what he means, he wants to do business. But if he strokes his beard
with his left hand and grins--he is trying to cheat you. Don't watch his
eyes, you won't find out anything from his eyes, he is a deep one, a
rogue--but watch his beard! I'll give you a note and you show it to him.
He's called Gorstkin, though his real name is Lyagavy(4); but don't call
him so, he will be offended. If you come to an understanding with him, and
see it's all right, write here at once. You need only write: 'He's not
lying.' Stand out for eleven thousand; one thousand you can knock off, but
not more. Just think! there's a difference between eight thousand and
eleven thousand. It's as good as picking up three thousand; it's not so
easy to find a purchaser, and I'm in desperate need of money. Only let me
know it's serious, and I'll run over and fix it up. I'll snatch the time
somehow. But what's the good of my galloping over, if it's all a notion of
the priest's? Come, will you go?"

"Oh, I can't spare the time. You must excuse me."

"Come, you might oblige your father. I shan't forget it. You've no heart,
any of you--that's what it is? What's a day or two to you? Where are you
going now--to Venice? Your Venice will keep another two days. I would have
sent Alyosha, but what use is Alyosha in a thing like that? I send you
just because you are a clever fellow. Do you suppose I don't see that? You
know nothing about timber, but you've got an eye. All that is wanted is to
see whether the man is in earnest. I tell you, watch his beard--if his
beard shakes you know he is in earnest."

"You force me to go to that damned Tchermashnya yourself, then?" cried
Ivan, with a malignant smile.

Fyodor Pavlovitch did not catch, or would not catch, the malignancy, but
he caught the smile.

"Then you'll go, you'll go? I'll scribble the note for you at once."

"I don't know whether I shall go. I don't know. I'll decide on the way."

"Nonsense! Decide at once. My dear fellow, decide! If you settle the
matter, write me a line; give it to the priest and he'll send it on to me
at once. And I won't delay you more than that. You can go to Venice. The
priest will give you horses back to Volovya station."

The old man was quite delighted. He wrote the note, and sent for the
horses. A light lunch was brought in, with brandy. When Fyodor Pavlovitch
was pleased, he usually b