“Only don’t think that you can pull wool over my eyes to-morrow. I’m not the sort of a chap whom you can feed on promises.”
His small eyes gleamed malignantly. His broad jaws trembled savagely. His feet seemed to carry him to the door of themselves.
“No,” answered Trirodov, “I do not intend to fool you. You will get your money tomorrow.”
Ostrov came at the same hour next evening. This time he was led into Trirodov’s study.
“Well,” asked Ostrov rather impudently, “do you mean to give me the money? Or will you play the same farce once more?”
Trirodov pulled a bundle of bank-notes out of a drawer in his writing-table, and said as he gave them to Ostrov:
“Please count them. There should be two thousand.”
Ostrov whistled and said gruffly:
“That’s too little. I asked for much more.”