Let him see this citizen off the premises."
"Not for personal gain. . . ."
"Bagration!"
Father Theodore fled in terror, while the engineer went into the dining-room and sat down to the goose.
Bruns's favourite bird had a soothing effect on him.
He began to calm down.
Just as the engineer was about to pop a goose leg into his pink mouth, having first wrapped a piece of cigarette paper around the bone, the face of the priest appeared appealingly at the window.
"Not for personal gain," said a soft voice. "Fifty-five roubles."
The engineer let out a roar without turning around.
Father Theodore disappeared.
The whole of that day Father Theodore's figure kept appearing at different points near the house.
At one moment it was seen coming out of the shade of the cryptomeria, at another it rose from a mandarin grove; then it raced across the back yard and, fluttering, dashed towards the botanical garden.
The whole day the engineer kept calling for Moosie, complaining about the crackpot and his own headache.
From time to time Father Theodore's voice could be heard echoing through the dusk.
"A hundred and eight," he called from somewhere in the sky.
A moment later his voice came from the direction of Dumbasoc's house.
"A hundred and forty-one. Not for personal gain, Mr. Brans, but merely . . ."
At length the engineer could stand it no longer; he came out on to the verandah and, peering into the darkness, began shouting very clearly:
"Damn you!
Two hundred roubles then.
Only leave us alone."
There was a rustle of disturbed bamboo, the sound of a soft groan and fading footsteps, then all was quiet.
Stars floundered in the bay.
Fireflies chased after Father Theodore and circled round his head, casting a greenish medicinal glow on his face.
"Now the goose is flown," muttered the engineer, going inside.
Meanwhile, Father Theodore was speeding along the coast in the last bus in the direction of Batumi.
A slight surf washed right up to the side of him; the wind blew in his face, and the bus hooted in reply to the whining jackals.
That evening Father Theodore sent a telegram to his wife in the town of N.
GOODS FOUND STOP WIRE ME TWO HUNDRED THIRTY STOP SELL ANYTHING STOP THEO
For two days he loafed about elatedly near Bruns's house, bowing to Moosie in the distance, and even making the tropical distances resound with shouts of
"Not for personal gain, but merely at the wishes of my wife who sent me."
Two days later the money was received together with a desperate telegram:
SOLD EVERYTHING STOP NOT A CENT LEFT STOP KISSES AND AM WAITING STOP EVSTIGNEYEV STILL HAVING MEALS STOP KATEY
Father Theodore counted the money, crossed himself frenziedly, hired a cart, and drove to the Green Cape.
The weather was dull.
A wind from the Turkish frontier blew across thunderclouds.
The strip of blue sky became narrower and narrower.
The wind was near gale force.
It was forbidden to take boats to sea and to bathe.
Thunder rumbled above Batumi.
The gale shook the coast.
Reaching Bruns's house, the priest ordered the Adzhar driver to wait and went to fetch the furniture.
"I've brought the money," said Father Theodore. "You ought to lower your price a bit."
"Moosie," groaned the engineer, "I can't stand any more of this."
"No, no, I've brought the money," said Father Theodore hastily, "two hundred, as you said."
"Moosie, take the money and give him the chairs, and let's get it over with.
I've a headache."
His life ambition was achieved.
The candle factory in Samara was falling into his lap.
The jewels were pouring into his pocket like seeds.