He looked into the youth's face with contempt and asked him in a faint voice: "And you speak like this ?" "I?
Who then ?" "You lie! It is your young foolishness that speaks.

Yes! And my old foolishness--brought to test a million times by life--says that you are a young dog as yet, and it is too early for you to bark in a basso." Foma hearing this, had often been quite provoked by his godfather's too picturesque language.
Mayakin always spoke to him more roughly than his father, but now the youth felt very much offended by the old man and said to him reservedly, but firmly: "You had better not abuse me without reflection, for I am no longer a small child." "Come, come!" exclaimed Mayakin, mockingly lifting his eyebrows and squinting.
This roused Foma's indignation.

He looked full into the old man's eyes and articulated with emphasis: "And I am telling you that I don't want to hear any more of that undeserved abuse of yours.

Enough!" "Mm! So-o! Pardon me." Yakov Tarasovich closed his eyes, chewed a little with his lips, and, turning aside from his godson, kept silent for awhile.

The carriage turned into a narrow street, and, noticing from afar the roof of his house, Foma involuntarily moved forward.