The owl face of the shopman suddenly lengthened; he looked very disturbed, and began to tremble. Then suddenly he let out with his right arm, and struck Ilya on the ear. The boy sprang suddenly up, fell to the ground with a loud groan, and crying, crept on all fours into a corner of the shop. As one in a dream, he heard the threatening voice of his master:——
"Stay, there, give up that money!"
"It's a lie," squeaked the shopman.
"Come here!"
"I swear—I——"
"I'll throw the weight at your head!"
"Kiril Ivanitch, it's my own money, may God strike me dead if it isn't."
"Hold your tongue!"
Then silence. The chief went to his room, and from there came at once the loud rattle of the balls on the counting frame. Ilya sat on the floor, holding his head, and looking with hatred at the shopman, who stood in another corner of the shop, and on his side, cast threatening looks at the boy.
"Ah, you vagabond, shall I give you any more?" he asked in a low voice, showing his teeth.