"Of what?"

"Of money, I mean."

"Fool! Is money counted by the barrel?"

"How else?" exclaimed Foma, enthusiastically, and, turning his
face toward his father, began to tell him quickly: "Maksimka, the
robber, came once to a certain town and filled up twelve barrels
with money belonging to some rich man there. And he took different silverware and robbed a church. And cut up a man with his sword
and threw him down the steeple because he tried to sound an alarm."

"Did your aunt tell you that?" asked Ignat admiring his son's
enthusiasm.

"Yes! Why?"

"Nothing!" said Ignat, laughing. "So you thought your father was
a robber."

"And perhaps you were a robber long ago?"

Foma again returned to his theme, and it was evident on his face
that he would be very glad to hear an affirmative answer.

"I was never a robber. Let that end it."

"Never?"