Vaviloff wrinkled up his forehead and turned his eyes questioningly to the ceiling.

“Where are those papers of mine?”

There was no answer to this on the ceiling, so the old sergeant looked down at his belly, and began drumming with his fingers on the bar in a worried and thoughtful manner.

“It’s no good your playing the fool like this,” shouted the Captain, who had no great affection for him, thinking that it befitted more a former soldier to become a thief than a pub-keeper.

“Oh! Yes! I remember now, Aristid Fomich. They were left at the District Court at the time when I came into possession.”

“No nonsense, Egorka! It is in your own interest to show me the plan, the title-deeds, and everything you have immediately. You will probably clear a few hundred rubles over this, do you understand?”

Vaviloff did not understand at all; but the Captain spoke in such serious and convincing tones that the sergeant’s eyes lit up with curiosity, and, telling him that he would see if the papers were in his desk, he went out through the door behind the bar. Two minutes later he returned with the papers in his hand and an expression of extreme astonishment on his face.

“Here they are, the blasted deeds, at home after all!”

“Ah! You…clown! And a former soldier too.”

Kuvalda could not help rebuking him, as he snatched the blue file from his hands. Then, spreading out the papers in front of him and thus exciting all the more Vaviloff’s curiosity, the Captain began reading, examining and ominously grunting at the same time. At last, he got up resolutely, and went to the door, leaving all the papers on the bar and saying to Vaviloff:

“Wait! Don’t put them away!”

Vaviloff gathered them up, put them into the cash box, locked it, then felt the lock to see if it were secure. After that he scratched his bald head thoughtfully and went out on the porch of the eating-house. From there he saw the Captain measuring the front of the house, and watched him anxiously, as he snapped his fingers, and began measuring the same line over again—thoughtful, but satisfied with the result. Vaviloff’s face became strained, then puzzled, until finally a radiant smile appeared on it.

“Aristid Fomich, is it possible?” he shouted, when the Captain came up to him.

“Of course it is possible. There is more than an arshin cut off in the front alone, and as to the depth I shall see immediately.”

“The depth…is thirty-two arshins.”

“So, you have guessed, you barefaced mug?”

“Of course, Aristid Fomich! But what eyes you have, my word! You can see under the ground, you can!” shouted Vaviloff joyfully.

A few minutes later, they sat opposite each other in Vaviloff’s parlor, and the Captain, consuming large quantities of beer, was telling the bar-keeper:

“Thus, one wall of the factory stands on your ground; now, mind you show no mercy! The teacher will be here presently, and we will get him to draw up a petition to the court. As to the amount of the damages, you will name a very moderate sum in order not to waste money in stamp duties, but we will ask to