“How terrible!” said Yefim, incredulously, looking into the master’s face with curiosity. But he immediately made a step backward. Ignat’s son, like a wolf, showed his teeth, the apples of his eyes became wider, and he roared:
“Laugh! I’ll show you how to laugh!”
Though Yefim lost courage, he nevertheless said with dignity:
“Although you, Foma Ignatyich, are the master, yet as I was told, ‘Watch, Yefim,’ and then I am the captain here.”
“The captain?” cried Foma, shuddering in every limb and turning pale. “And who am I?”
“Well, don’t bawl! On account of such a trifle as a woman.”
Red spots came out on Foma’s pale face, he shifted from one foot to the other, thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket with a convulsive motion and said in a firm and even voice:
“You! Captain! See here, say another word against me—and you go to the devil! I’ll put you ashore! I’ll get along as well with the pilot! Understand? You cannot command me. Do you see?”
Yefim was dumfounded. He looked at his master and comically winked his eyes, finding no reply to his words.
“Do you understand, I say?”