Thus speaking, Pan Stanislav rose and began to put away the photographs on the shelves above the table; finally, he took Litka’s portrait, and said,—
“I will take this to my study.”
“But thou hast that one there with the birches, colored.”
“True; but I do not want this here so much in view. Every one makes remarks, and sometimes that angers me. Wilt thou permit?”
“Very well, my Stas,” answered Marynia.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Bigiel persuaded Pan Stanislav emphatically not to extend the house, and not to throw himself too hurriedly into undertakings of various sorts. “We have created,” said he, “an honorable mercantile firm of a kind rare in this country; hence we are useful.” He maintained that from gratitude alone they ought to continue a business through which they had almost doubled their property. At the same time he expressed the conviction that they would show more sense if at this juncture specially they managed matters with care and solidly, and that their first bold speculation, though it had been fortunate, should not only not entice them to others, but should be the last.
Pan Stanislav agreed that it was necessary to show moderation, especially in success; but he complained that he could not find a career in the house, and that he wanted to produce something. He had common-sense enough not to think yet of a factory on his own capital. “I do not wish to carry on a small one,” said he, “since a large one producing en gros attracts me, and I have not capital for it; one with shares, I should be working not for myself, but for others.” He understood, too, that it was not easy to find shareholders among the local elements, and he did not want strangers; he knew, moreover, that he could not rouse confidence in them, and that his name alone would be a hindrance. Bigiel, for whom it was a question of the “house,” was sincerely pleased with this sobriety of view.
In Pan Stanislav was roused still another desire, which is as old as man,—the desire of possession. After the lucky grain speculation and the will of Bukatski, he was quite wealthy; but with all his real sobriety, he had a certain strange feeling that that wealth, consisting even of the most reliable securities shut up in fire-proof safes, was just paper, and would remain so till he owned something real, of which he could say, “This is mine.” That strange desire was seizing him with growing force. For him it was not a question of anything great, but of some corner of his own, where he might feel at home. He tried to philosophize over this, and to explain to Bigiel that such a desire of ownership must be some inborn passion which might be repressed, but which, in riper age, would appear with new strength. Bigiel acknowledged that that might be true, and said,—