“If you play the fool seriously I must also deal with you seriously. I promised your father to make a man of you, and I will do it; if you cannot stand on your feet, I’ll put you in irons. Then you will stand. Though I know all these holy words of yours are but ugly caprices that come from excessive drinking. But if you do not give that up, if you keep on behaving indecently, if you ruin, out of wantonness, the property accumulated by your father, I’ll cover you all up. I’ll have a bell forged over you. It is very inconvenient to fool with me.” Mayakin spoke gently. The wrinkles of his cheeks all rose upward, and his small eyes in their dark sockets were smiling sarcastically, coldly. And the wrinkles on his forehead formed an odd pattern, rising up to his bald crown. His face was stern and merciless, and breathed melancholy and coldness upon Foma’s soul. “So there’s no way out for me?” asked Foma, gloomily. “You are blocking all my ways?” “There is a way. Go there! I shall guide you. Don’t worry, it will be right! You will come just to your proper place.” This self-confidence, this unshakable boastfulness aroused Foma’s indignation. Thrusting his hands into his pockets in order not to strike the old man, he straightened himself in his chair and clinching his teeth, said, facing Mayakin closely: “Why are you boasting? What are you boasting of? Your own son, where is he? Your daughter, what is she? Eh, you--you life-builder! Well, you are clever. You know everything. Tell me, what for do you live? What for are you accumulating money? Do you think you are not going to die? Well, what then? You’ve captured me. You’ve taken hold of me, you’ve conquered me. But wait, I may yet tear myself away from you! It isn’t the end yet! Eh, you! What have you done for life? By what will you be remembered? My father, for instance, donated a lodging-house, and you--what have you done?” Mayakin’s wrinkles quivered and sank downward, wherefore his face assumed a sickly, weeping expression. “How will you justify yourself?” asked Foma, softly, without lifting his eyes from him. “Hold your tongue, you puppy!” said the old man in a low voice, casting a glance of alarm about the room. “I’ve said everything! And now I’m going! Hold me back!” Foma rose from his chair, thrust his cap on his head, and measured the old man with abhorrence. “You may go; but I’ll--I’ll catch you! It will come out as I say!” said Yakov Tarasovich in a broken voice. “And I’ll go on a spree! I’ll squander all!” “Very well, we’ll see!” “Goodbye! you hero,” Foma laughed. “Goodbye, for a short while! I’ll not go back on my own. I love it. I love you, too. Never mind, you’re a good fellow!” said Mayakin, softly, and as though out of breath. “Do not love me, but teach me. But then, you cannot teach me the right thing!” said Foma, as he turned his back on the old man and left the hall.