"Let me hear; what is there to be made?" said Szmula, rising, thrusting his hands into his girdle, and approaching Chwedko.
"Your Honour" (this title was specially flattering to the Jew's vanity),--"your Honour knows Iermola, the old man who lives in the old ruined inn."
"Certainly I know him; but he is only a poor devil, a beggar."
"That is true, but it does not prevent his having gained a few roubles."
"Well, what? He wants to drink them up?"
"No, no! he does not drink brandy, but he has taken it into his head to buy a cow, paying half the amount down and asking credit for the balance."
"A cow! and what will he do with it?"
"He was going to the town to look for one; but I stopped him because I thought of a plan for him."
"To the town! always to the town!" repeated the Jew, shrugging his shoulders. "The fools! That is their first thought. But tell me, Chwedko, what is your plan?"
"I have tried to make him think that it is not a good idea for him to have a cow and be in debt; that it would be better for him to buy a goat with his money. He would have milk immediately, and in a little while a flock. Perhaps you would sell him your white goat?" Just here the Jew fixed his piercing eye on Chwedko's face, but he fortunately was not disturbed thereby. It was scarcely possible, in fact, to suspect any design in so simple a proposition. The innkeeper, however, tried to sound the intentions of the good man by a sudden question.