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 THE ENGINEER BRUNS

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‘ Darling, take the money and give him the chairs. And be as quick as you can. My head is simply splitting ! ’ Father Theodore had reached the goal of his whole life. The Samara candle factory was within his grasp, and the diamonds would pour into his pockets like sunflower seeds. One after the other, the twelve chairs were taken out of the house and piled on to the lorry. They were very like the Vorobianinov chairs, but with this difference, they were not upholstered in flowered chintz, but in blue repp with a pink stripe. Father Theodore was possessed with impatience. He had tucked a small axe into his belt under his coat, and from his seat next to the driver, he turned round every few minutes to take a look at the chairs. They were going towards Batum. There was a strong wind, and Father Theodore noticed that the sea was rough. As they approached Makhindzhauri, Father Theodore shouted to the driver and told him to stop. Trembling with excitement he began to take the chairs from the lorry and put them down on a deserted part of the beach. The driver was not at all interested. He took his fare, whipped up his horses, and drove away. Father Theodore looked round to make sure that no one was watching him. Then he dragged the chairs on to a narrow strip of dry sand and pulled out the axe. For a moment he was in doubt. He did not know on which chair to begin, and then like a lunatic he rushed up to the third chair and struck it a heavy blow. The chair fell over. ‘ Aha ! ’ shouted Father Theodore. ‘ I’ll show you ! ’ And he fell upon the chair as though it were alive. In a trice the chair was reduced to splinters, but Father Theodore could not hear the blows of the axe against the repp or woodwork, for the roar of the sea and wind muffled them. ‘ Aha ! ’ he kept saying as he hacked at the chairs.