“Vasya, look at you as I may, I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it, I swear. I keep feeling as though… . Listen, how can you be engaged to be married? … How is it I didn’t know, eh? Do you know, Vasya, I will confess it to you now. I was thinking of getting married myself; but now since you are going to be married, it is just as good! Be happy, be happy! …”
“Brother, I feel so lighthearted now, there is such sweetness in my soul ..,” said Vasya, getting up and pacing about the room excitedly. “Don’t you feel the same? We shall be poor, of course, but we shall be happy; and you know it is not a wild fancy; our happiness is not a fairy tale; we shall be happy in reality! …”
“Vasya, Vasya, listen!”
“What?” said Vasya, standing before Arkady Ivanovitch.
“The idea occurs to me; I am really afraid to say it to you… . Forgive me, and settle my doubts. What are you going to live on? You know I am delighted that you are going to be married, of course, I am delighted, and I don’t know what to do with myself, but what are you going to live on? Eh?”
“Oh, good Heavens! What a fellow you are, Arkasha!” said Vasya, looking at Nefedevitch in profound astonishment. “What do you mean? Even her old mother, even she did not think of that for two minutes when I put it all clearly before her. You had better ask what they are living on! They have five hundred roubles a year between the three of them: the pension, which is all they have, since the father died. She and her old mother and her little brother, whose schooling is paid for out of that income too — that is how they live! It’s you and I are the capitalists! Some good years it works out to as much as seven hundred for me.”
“I say, Vasya, excuse me; I really … you know I … I am only thinking how to prevent things going wrong. How do you mean, seven hundred? It’s only three hundred …”
“Three hundred! … And Yulian Mastakovitch? Have you forgotten him?”
“Yulian Mastakovitch? But you know that’s uncertain, brother; that’s not the same thing as three hundred roubles of secure salary, where every rouble is a friend you can trust. Yulian Mastakovitch, of course, he’s a great man, in fact, I respect him, I understand him, though he is so far above us; and, by Jove, I love him, because he likes you and gives you something for your work, though he might not pay you, but simply order a clerk to work for him but you will agree, Vasya… . Let me tell you, too, I am not talking nonsense. I admit in all Petersburg you won’t find a handwriting like your handwriting, I am ready to allow that to you,” Nefedevitch concluded, not without enthusiasm. “But, God forbid! you may displease him all at once, you may not satisfy him, your work with him may stop, he may take another clerk all sorts of things may happen, in fact! You know, Yulian Mastakovitch may be here to-day and gone tomorrow …”
“Well, Arkasha, the ceiling might fall on our heads this minute.”
“Oh, of course, of course, I mean nothing.”
“But listen, hear what I have got to say you know, I don’t see how he can part with me… . No, hear what I have to say! Hear what I have to say! You see, I perform all my duties punctually; you know how kind he is, you know, Arkasha, he gave me fifty roubles in silver today!”
“Did he really, Vasya? A bonus for you?”
“Bonus, indeed, it was out of his own pocket. He said: ‘Why, you have had no money for five months, brother, take some if you want it; thank you, I am satisfied with you.’ … Yes, really! ‘Yes, you don’t work for me for nothing,’ said he. He did, indeed, that’s what he said. It brought tears into my eyes, Arkasha. Good Heavens, yes!”
“I say, Vasya, have you finished copying those papers? …”
“No. … I haven’t finished them yet.”
“Vas … ya ! My angel ! What have you been doing?”
“Listen, Arkasha, it doesn’t matter, they are not wanted for another two days, I have time enough. …”
“How is it you have not done them?”
That’ s all right, that’s all right. You look so horror-stricken that you turn me inside out and make my heart ache! You are always going on at me like this! He’s for ever crying out: Oh, oh, oh ! ! ! Only consider, what does it matter? Why, I shall finish it, of course I shall finish it… .”
“What if you don’t finish it?” cried Arkady, jumping up, “and he has made you a present to-day! And you going to be married… . Tut, tut, tut! …”
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” cried Shumkov, “I shall sit down directly, I shall sit down this minute.”
“How did you come to leave it, Vasya?”
“Oh, Arkasha! How could I sit down to work! Have I been in a fit state? Why, even at the office I could scarcely sit still, I could scarcely bear the beating of my heart… . Oh! oh ! Now I shall work all night, and I shall work all tomorrow night, and the night after, too and I shall finish it.”
“Is there a great deal left?”
“Don’t hinder me, for goodness’ sake, don’t hinder me; hold your tongue.”
Arkady Ivanovitch went on tip-toe to the bed and sat down, then suddenly wanted to get up, but was obliged to sit down again, remembering that he might interrupt him, though he could not sit still for excitement: it was evident that the news had thoroughly upset him, and the first thrill of delight had not yet passed off. He glanced at Shumkov; the latter glanced at him, smiled, and shook his finger at him, then, frowning severely (as though all his energy and the success of his work depended upon it), fixed his eyes on the papers.
It seemed that he, too, could not yet master his emotion; he kept changing his pen, fidgeting in his chair, rearranging things, and setting to work again, but his hand trembled and refused to move.
“Arkasha, I’ve talked to them about you,” he cried suddenly, as though he had just remembered it.
“Yes,” cried Arkasha, “I was just wanting to ask you that. Well?”
“Well, I’ll tell you everything afterwards. Of course, it is my own fault, but it quite went out of my head that I didn’t mean to say anything till I had written four pages, but I thought of you and of them. I really can’t write, brother, I keep thinking about you. …”
Vasya smiled.
A silence followed.
“Phew! What a horrid pen,” cried Shumkov, flinging it on the table in vexation. He took another.
“Vasya! listen! one word …”
“Well, make haste, and for the last time.”
“Have you a great deal left to do?”
“Ah, brother!” Vasya frowned, as though there could be nothing more terrible and murderous in the whole world than such a question. “A lot, a fearful lot.”
“Do you know, I