“So-o!” drawled out Mayakin, measuring the captain with an ill-omened look. “Well, Yefimushka, I’ll strip your skin off.” “It wasn’t I who did it!” said Yefim, quickly. “Not you?” cried the old man, shaking with rage. “Who then?” “The master himself.” “Foma? And you. Where were you?” “I was lying in the hatchway.” “Ah! You were lying.” “I was bound there.” “Wha-at?” screamed the old man in a shrill voice. “Allow me to tell you everything as it happened. He was drunk and he shouted: “‘Get away! I’ll take command myself!’ I said ‘I can’t! I am the captain.’ ‘Bind him!’ said he. And when they had bound me, they lowered me into the hatchway, with the sailors. And as the master was drunk, he wanted to have some fun. A fleet of boats was coming toward us. Six empty barges towed by ‘Cheruigorez.’ So Foma Ignatyich blocked their way. They whistled. More than once. I must tell the truth--they whistled!” “Well?” “Well, and they couldn’t manage it--the two barges in front crashed into us. And as they struck the side of our ninth, we were smashed to pieces. And the two barges were also smashed. But we fared much worse.” Mayakin rose from the chair and burst into jarring, angry laughter. And Yefim sighed, and, outstretching his hands, said: “He has a very violent character. When he is sober he is silent most of the time, and walks around thoughtfully, but when he wets his springs with wine--then he breaks loose. Then he is not master of himself and of his business--but their wild enemy--you must excuse me! And I want to leave, Yakov Tarasovich! I am not used to being without a master, I cannot live without a master!” “Keep quiet!” said Mayakin, sternly. “Where’s Foma?” “There; at the same place. Immediately after the accident, he came to himself and at once sent for workmen. They’ll lift the barge. They may have started by this time.” “Is he there alone?” asked Mayakin, lowering his head. “Not quite,” replied Yefim, softly, glancing stealthily at Lubov. “Really?” “There’s a lady with him. A dark one.” “So.” “It looks as though the woman is out of her wits,” said Yefim, with a sigh. “She’s forever singing. She sings very well. It’s very captivating.” “I am not asking you about her!” cried Mayakin, angrily. The wrinkles of his face were painfully quivering, and it seemed to Lubov that her father was about to weep. “Calm yourself, papa!” she entreated caressingly. “Maybe the loss isn’t so great.” “Not great?” cried Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice. “What do you understand, you fool? Is it only that the barge was smashed? Eh, you! A man is lost! That’s what it is! And he is essential to me! I need him, dull devils that you are!” The old man shook his head angrily and with brisk steps walked off along the garden path leading toward the house.