"Yes," said Ilya, defiantly.
"There, see! What a young cub!"
The merchant stroked his red beard for a while, and looked earnestly at Ilya without speaking.
"And you, Ilya, have you ever stolen."
"No."
"I believe you—you have not stolen, but Karp now—this fellow Karp here, does he steal?"
"Yes, he steals," answered Ilya curtly.
Karp looked at him in astonishment, blinked his eyes and turned away as if the matter did not concern him in the least. The master's brows contracted darkly, and again he began to stroke his beard. Ilya felt clearly that something out of the common was impending and awaited the end, strung to the pitch of nervousness. The flies hovered about in the sharp, reeking air of the shop. The water in the tubs of live fishes splashed.
"Karpushka!" the chief addressed the shopman who was standing motionless in the door and looking attentively at the streets.
"What can I do, sir?" answered Karp, and hurried to his employer, looking at his face with submissive, friendly eyes.