The three stared in an even greater amazement.
The old man shook his head. “If I had so large a note,” he said at length, “people would think I stole it.”
Drexel took out several smaller bills that totalled the same, and restored the first note to his purse.
The three hesitated—looked at one another—then withdrew for a conference into the chickens’ apartment. When they returned, the old man said:
“Pardon, my lord—but if we do this, may we not get into trouble?”
“Isn’t it worth running a little risk to get twenty times a thing’s value?” Drexel returned sharply.
They conferred again. “But if I sell this, what shall I wear?” asked the old man.
“Oh, Lord!” groaned Drexel in exasperation. “Can’t you take ten rubles of the hundred and buy a new suit?”
“No—I dare not buy new clothes. All the village knows we are very poor, knows we have hardly a single ruble. If I get a new suit all the village will ask questions and be suspicious. My lord knows how the police look into everything; they would take it up and make trouble.” He shook his head. “No, I dare not sell.”
The old man was right about the new suit, Drexel had to admit. His situation seemed hopeless. But as they talked on a way opened, and finally they settled upon a plan. Drexel was to have the clothes—the old man was to remain in bed for a day on pretense of illness—the son was to accompany Drexel to St. Petersburg to bring back the suit—and on the day after the morrow the father could go about in his accustomed garb. Tired as he was, Drexel had to laugh at all this complicated caution to give him a few hours’ use of a suit hardly worth its weight in rags.