Drabkin’s wedding was postponed for half a year, but the dowry of five hundred roubles was at once placed into his hands, that he might open a shop immediately. For he was known by all to be an honourable man.
He bought a sewing-machine, shears, knives; wooden pliers he made himself; and together with his future wife he sat down to work. The shop, naturally, was in her name.
He was submerged with orders.
He became a new man,—jollier, livelier, more enthusiastic. He attacked his work arduously.
It seemed that he wanted to pile up more and more money.
He felt a sensation that he had never before experienced. He had money! He had money! He was a boss for himself! Often he would get a ticklish feeling, and he would smile happily and begin to hum a tune. He was superlatively happy. He made plans—the dowry would grow, he would accumulate heaps of money, he would accomplish miracles!...
“I’ll show them!” he would shout, triumphantly, to nobody in particular, pushing the treadle of his machine vigorously as he sewed away.
“Show whom?” asked his fiancée, after he had shouted his defiance for the tenth time.
“Everybody!” he replied. “They’ll hear from me!”
And then he would fall to explaining just how he would “show them.”