Mitia went to his mother.  This was his last hope.  His mother was very kind, and hardly ever refused him anything.  She would probably have helped him this time also out of his trouble, but she was in great anxiety:  her younger child, Petia, a boy of two, had fallen ill.  She got angry with Mitia for rushing so noisily into the nursery, and refused him almost without listening to what he had to say.  Mitia muttered something to himself and turned to go.  The mother felt sorry for him.  “Wait, Mitia,” she said; “I have not got the money you want now, but I will get it for you to-morrow.”

But Mitia was still raging against his father.

“What is the use of having it to-morrow, when I want it to-day?  I am going to see a friend.  That is all I have got to say.”

He went out, banging the door. . . .

“Nothing else is left to me.  He will tell me how to pawn my watch,” he thought, touching his watch in his pocket.

Mitia went to his room, took the coupon and the watch from the drawer, put on his coat, and went to Mahin.

II

Mahin was his schoolfellow, his senior, a grown-up young man with a moustache.  He gambled, had a large feminine acquaintance, and always had ready cash.  He lived with his aunt.  Mitia quite realised that Mahin was not a respectable fellow, but when he was in his company he could not help doing what he wished.  Mahin was in when Mitia called, and was just preparing to go to the theatre.  His untidy room smelt of scented soap and eau-de-Cologne.

“That’s awful, old chap,” said Mahin, when Mitia telling him about his troubles, showed the coupon and the fifty kopeks, and added that he wanted nine roubles more.  “We might, of course, go and pawn your watch.  But we might do something far better.”  And Mahin winked an eye.

“What’s that?”

“Something quite simple.”  Mahin took the coupon in his hand.  “Put one before the 2.50 and it will be 12.50.”

“But do such coupons exist?”

“Why, certainly; the thousand roubles notes have coupons of 12.50.  I have cashed one in the same way.”

“You don’t say so?”

“Well, yes or no?” asked Mahin, taking the pen and smoothing the coupon with the fingers of his left hand.

“But it is wrong.”

“Nonsense!”

“Nonsense, indeed,” thought Mitia, and again his father’s hard words came back to his memory.  “Scoundrel!  As you called me that, I might as well be it.”  He looked into Mahin’s face.  Mahin looked at him, smiling with perfect ease.

“Well?” he said.

“All right.  I don’t mind.”

Mahin carefully wrote the unit in front of 2.50.

“Now let us go to the shop across the road; they sell photographers’ materials there.  I just happen to want a frame—­for this young person here.”  He took out of his pocket a photograph of a young lady with large eyes, luxuriant hair, and an uncommonly well-developed bust.