THE FORGED COUPON

PART FIRST

I

Fedor Mihailovich Smokovnikov, the president of the local Income Tax Department, a man of unswerving honesty—­and proud of it, too—­a gloomy Liberal, a free-thinker, and an enemy to every manifestation of religious feeling, which he thought a relic of superstition, came home from his office feeling very much annoyed.  The Governor of the province had sent him an extraordinarily stupid minute, almost assuming that his dealings had been dishonest.

Fedor Mihailovich felt embittered, and wrote at once a sharp answer.  On his return home everything seemed to go contrary to his wishes.

It was five minutes to five, and he expected the dinner to be served at once, but he was told it was not ready.  He banged the door and went to his study.  Somebody knocked at the door.  “Who the devil is that?” he thought; and shouted,—­“Who is there?”

The door opened and a boy of fifteen came in, the son of Fedor Mihailovich, a pupil of the fifth class of the local school.

“What do you want?”

“It is the first of the month to-day, father.”

“Well!  You want your money?”

It had been arranged that the father should pay his son a monthly allowance of three roubles as pocket money.  Fedor Mihailovich frowned, took out of his pocket-book a coupon of two roubles fifty kopeks which he found among the bank-notes, and added to it fifty kopeks in silver out of the loose change in his purse.  The boy kept silent, and did not take the money his father proffered him.

“Father, please give me some more in advance.”

“What?”

“I would not ask for it, but I have borrowed a small sum from a friend, and promised upon my word of honour to pay it off.  My honour is dear to me, and that is why I want another three roubles.  I don’t like asking you; but, please, father, give me another three roubles.”

“I have told you—­”

“I know, father, but just for once.”

“You have an allowance of three roubles and you ought to be content.  I had not fifty kopeks when I was your age.”

“Now, all my comrades have much more.  Petrov and Ivanitsky have fifty roubles a month.”

“And I tell you that if you behave like them you will be a scoundrel.  Mind that.”

“What is there to mind?  You never understand my position.  I shall be disgraced if I don’t pay my debt.  It is all very well for you to speak as you do.”

“Be off, you silly boy!  Be off!”

Fedor Mihailovich jumped from his seat and pounced upon his son.  “Be off, I say!” he shouted.  “You deserve a good thrashing, all you boys!”

His son was at once frightened and embittered.  The bitterness was even greater than the fright.  With his head bent down he hastily turned to the door.  Fedor Mihailovich did not intend to strike him, but he was glad to vent his wrath, and went on shouting and abusing the boy till he had closed the door.