But feeling himself of equal strength as his adversary, Iakov regarded his father boldly, with a look that meant:  “Touch me if you dare!”

They had both drunk two glasses without exchanging a word, except a few commonplace remarks about the fisheries.  Alone amidst the deserted waters each nursed his hatred, and both knew that this hate would soon burst forth into flame.

“How’s Serejka?” at last Vassili blurted out.

“Drunk as usual,” replied Iakov, pouring our some more brandy for his father.

“He’ll end badly—­and if you don’t take care you’ll do the same.”

“I shall never become like him,” replied Iakov, surlily.

“No?” said Vassili, frowning.  “I know what I’m talking about.  How long are you here already?  Two months.  You must soon think of going back.  How much money have you saved?”

“In so little time I’ve not been able to save any,” replied Iakov.

“Then you don’t want to stay here any longer, my lad, go back to the village.”

Iakov smiled.

“Why these grimaces?” cried Vassili threateningly, and impatient at his son’s coolness.  “Your father’s advising you and you mock him.  You’re in too much of a hurry to play the independent.  You want to be put in the traces again.”

Iakov poured out some more brandy and drank it.  These coarse reproaches offended him, but he mastered himself, not wanting to arouse his father’s anger.

Seeing that his son had drunk again, alone, without filling his glass, made Vassili more angry than ever.

“Your father says to you, ‘Go home,’ and you laugh at him.  Very well, I’ll speak differently.  You’ll get your pay Saturday and trot—­home to the village—­do you understand?”

“I won’t go,” said Iakov, firmly.

“What!” cried Vassili, and leaning his two hands on the edge of the table he rose to his feet.  “Have I spoken, yes or no?  You dog, barking at your father!  Do you forget that I can do what I please with you?”

His mouth trembled with passion, his face was convulsed, and two swollen veins stood out on his temples.

“I forget nothing,” said Iakov, in a low tone and not looking at his father.  “And you—­have you forgotten nothing?”

“It’s not your place to preach to me.  I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Iakov avoided the hand that his father raised over his head and a feeling of savage hatred arose in him.  He said, between his clenched teeth: 

“Don’t touch me.  We’re not in the village now.”

“Be silent.  I’m your father everywhere.”

They stood facing each other, Vassili, his eyes bloodshot, his neck outstretched, his fists clenched, panted his brandy-smelling breath in his son’s face.  Iakov stepped back.  He was watching his father’s movements, ready to ward off blows, peaceful outwardly, but steaming with perspiration.  Between them was the table.