Tchelkache tottered, sat down heavily on the sand, and gritting
his teeth, brandished his long arm and closed fist in the air. But
before he had time to strike, he was stopped by the troubled and
suppliant look of Gavrilo.
"Friend! Give me . . . that money! Give it to me, in the name of
Heaven. What need have you of it? It is the earnings of one night
. . . a single night . . . And it would take me years to get as much
as that. . . Give it to me. . . I'll pray for you . . . all my life
. . . in three churches . . . for the safety of your soul. You'll
throw it to the winds, and I'll give it to the earth. Oh! give me that
money. What will you do with it, say? Do you care about it as much as
that? One night . . . and you are rich! Do a good deed! You are
lost, you! . . . You'll never come back again to the way, while I!
. . . Ah! give it to me!"
Tchelkache frightened, astonished and furious threw himself backward,
still seated on the sand, and leaning on his two hands silently gazed
at him, his eyes starting from their orbits; the lad leaned his head on
his knees and gasped forth his supplications. Tchelkache finally
pushed him away, jumped to his feet, and thrusting his hand into his
pocket threw the multi-colored bills at Gavrilo.
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