What sort of a man are you, Christian Gregorovitch, to let
the fellow carry off your Gigerl, with his airy promise to pay you the
money to-day?"
"The Gigerl was broken," observed the tobacconist.
"Oh, it could have been mended; and if it was really stolen, was that our
business, I would like to know? Nobody would ever have supposed, seeing it
in our window, that it had been stolen. And it could have been mended, as
I say, and might have been worth something after all. You never really
tried to sell it, as you ought to have done from the very first. And now
you have got nothing at all, nothing but that insolent maniac's promise.
If I were you I would take the money out of his wages, I would indeed!"
"No doubt you would," said Fischelowitz, with sincere conviction.
Meanwhile Schmidt had gone into the back shop, where Dumnoff was still
doggedly working, making up for the time he had lost by coming late in the
morning. He was alone at his little table.
"How much money have you got?" asked the Cossack, briefly. Dumnoff looked
up rather stupidly, dropped the cigarette he was making, and felt in his
pocket for his change. He produced five marks, an unusual sum for him to
have in his possession, and which would not have found itself in his hands
had not his arrest on the previous evening prevented his spending
considerably more than he had spent in his favourite corn-brandy.
"I want it all," said Schmidt.
"You are a cool-blooded fellow," laughed Dumnoff, making as though he
would return the coins to his pocket.
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