"Your father's advising you and you mock him. You're
in too much of a hurry to play the independent. You want to be put in
the traces again."
Iakov poured out some more brandy and drank it. These coarse reproaches
offended him, but he mastered himself, not wanting to arouse his
father's anger.
Seeing that his son had drunk again, alone, without filling his glass,
made Vassili more angry than ever.
"Your father says to you, 'Go home,' and you laugh at him. Very well,
I'll speak differently. You'll get your pay Saturday and trot--home to
the village--do you understand?"
"I won't go," said Iakov, firmly.
"What!" cried Vassili, and leaning his two hands on the edge of the
table he rose to his feet. "Have I spoken, yes or no? You dog, barking
at your father! Do you forget that I can do what I please with you?"
His mouth trembled with passion, his face was convulsed, and two swollen
veins stood out on his temples.
"I forget nothing," said Iakov, in a low tone and not looking at his
father. "And you--have you forgotten nothing?"
"It's not your place to preach to me. I'll break every bone in your
body."
Iakov avoided the hand that his father raised over his head and a
feeling of savage hatred arose in him.
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