"I cannot sacrifice my interest to sentiments. If I give them a thousand roubles to-day, they will want a million to-morrow."
"You exaggerate," said Boehme, annoyed; "my advice is that, if you can settle this business for ten thousand roubles, give fifteen thousand rather, and make an end of it."
"It is at an end already," said Adler. "The worst of them are gone, and the rest know that there is discipline here. If I were as soft-hearted as you, they would trample me under foot."
The pastor said nothing, but began to throw things on to the surface of the pond—first a cork, then bits of wood broken off from a stick.
"My dear Martin, what are you throwing rubbish on the water for?" asked Adler.
The pastor pointed towards the pond, where the things he had thrown upon the water were making circles that grew larger and larger.
"Do you see how the waves are getting farther and farther away from the middle?" he asked.
"They are always doing that. What is there peculiar in it?"
"You are quite right," said the pastor; "it is always like that—everywhere, on the pond and in our lives. When something good happens in the world, waves are produced by it; they grow larger and larger and extend farther and farther."
"I don't understand you," said Adler indifferently, sipping his wine.