No More Learning

. Come, you know I can imitate your signature awfully well, and
make just the same flourish to it, upon my word I can. What nonsense!
Who would notice? "

Vasya, made no reply, but emptied his glass hurriedly. . . . Then he shook
his head doubtfully.

"Vasya, dear boy! Ah, if only we succeed! Vasya, what's the matter with
you, you quite frighten me! Do you know, Vasya, I am not going to bed
now, I am not going to sleep! Show me, have you a great deal left? "

Vasya gave Arkady such a look that his heart sank, and his tongue failed
him.

"Vasya, what is the matter? What are you thinking? Why do you look like
that? "

"Arkady, I really must go to-morrow to wish Yulian Mastakovitch a happy
New Year. "

"Well, go then! " said Arkady, gazing at him open-eyed, in uneasy
expectation. "I say, Vasya, do write faster; I am advising you for your
good, I really am! How often Yulian Mastakovitch himself has said that
what he likes particularly about your writing is its legibility. Why, it
is all that Skoroplehin cares for, that writing should be good and
distinct like a copy, so as afterwards to pocket the paper and take it
home for his children to copy; he can't buy copybooks, the blockhead!
Yulian Mastakovitch is always saying, always insisting: 'Legible,
legible, legible! '. . . What is the matter? Vasya, I really don't know
how to talk to you . . . it quite frightens me . . . you crush me with your
depression. "

"It's all right, it's all right," said Vasya, and he fell back in his
chair as though fainting. Arkady was alarmed.

"Will you have some water? Vasya! Vasya! "

"Don't, don't," said Vasya, pressing his hand. "I am all right, I only
feel sad, I can't tell why. Better talk of something else; let me forget
it. "

"Calm yourself, for goodness' sake, calm yourself, Vasya. You will
finish it all right, on my honour, you will. And even if you don't
finish, what will it matter? You talk as though it were a crime! "

"Arkady," said Vasya, looking at his friend with such meaning that
Arkady was quite frightened, for Vasya had never been so agitated
before. . . . "If I were alone, as I used to be. . . . No! I don't mean that.
I keep wanting to tell you as a friend, to confide in you. . . . But why
worry you, though? . . . You see, Arkady, to some much is given, others do
a little thing as I do. Well, if gratitude, appreciation, is expected of
you . . . and you can't give it? "

"Vasya, I don't understand you in the least. "

"I have never been ungrateful," Vasya went on softly, as though speaking
to himself, "but if I am incapable of expressing all I feel, it seems as
though . . . it seems, Arkady, as though I am really ungrateful, and
that's killing me. "

"What next, what next! As though gratitude meant nothing more than your
finishing that copy in time? Just think what you are saying, Vasya? Is
that the whole expression of gratitude? "

Vasya sank into silence at once, and looked open-eyed at Arkady, as
though his unexpected argument had settled all his doubts. He even
smiled, but the same melancholy expression came back to his face at
once. Arkady, taking this smile as a sign that all his uneasiness was
over, and the look that succeeded it as an indication that he was
determined to do better, was greatly relieved.

"Well, brother Arkasha, you will wake up," said Vasya, "keep an eye on
me; if I fall asleep it will be dreadful. I'll set to work now. . . .
Arkasha? "

"What? "

"Oh, it's nothing, I only . . . I meant. . . . "

Vasya settled himself, and said no more, Arkady got into bed. Neither of
them said one word about their friends, the Artemyevs. Perhaps both of
them felt that they had been a little to blame, and that they ought not
to have gone for their jaunt when they did. Arkady soon fell asleep,
still worried about Vasya. To his own surprise he woke up exactly at
eight o'clock in the morning. Vasya was asleep in his chair with the pen
in his hand, pale and exhausted; the candle had burnt out. Mavra was
busy getting the samovar ready in the kitchen.

"Vasya, Vasya! " Arkady cried in alarm, "when did you fall asleep? "

Vasya opened his eyes and jumped up from his chair.

"Oh! " he cried, "I must have fallen asleep. . . . "

He flew to the papers--everything was right; all were in order; there
was not a blot of ink, nor spot of grease from the candle on them.

"I think I must have fallen asleep about six o'clock," said Vasya. "How
cold it is in the night! Let us have tea, and I will go on again. . . . "

"Do you feel better? "

"Yes, yes, I'm all right, I'm all right now. "

"A happy New Year to you, brother Vasya. "

"And to you too, brother, the same to you, dear boy. "

They embraced each other. Vasya's chin was quivering and his eyes were
moist. Arkady Ivanovitch was silent, he felt sad. They drank their tea
hastily.

"Arkady, I've made up my mind, I am going myself to Yulian
Mastakovitch. "

"Why, he wouldn't notice----"

"But my conscience feels ill at ease, brother. "

"But you know it's for his sake you are sitting here; it's for his sake
you are wearing yourself out. "

"Enough! "

"Do you know what, brother, I'll go round and see. . . . "

"Whom? " asked Vasya.

"The Artemyevs. I'll take them your good wishes for the New Year as well
as mine. "

"My dear fellow! Well, I'll stay here; and I see it's a good idea of
yours; I shall be working here, I shan't waste my time. Wait one minute,
I'll write a note. "

"Yes, do brother, do, there's plenty of time. I've still to wash and
shave and to brush my best coat. Well, Vasya, we are going to be
contented and happy. Embrace me, Vasya. "

"Ah, if only we may, brother. . . . "

"Does Mr. Shumkov live here? " they heard a child's voice on the stairs.

"Yes, my dear, yes," said Mavra, showing the visitor in.

"What's that? What is it? " cried Vasya, leaping up from the table and
rushing to the entry, "Petinka, you? "

"Good morning, I have the honour to wish you a happy New Year, Vassily
Petrovitch," said a pretty boy of ten years old with curly black hair.
"Sister sends you her love, and so does Mamma, and Sister told me to
give you a kiss for her. "

Vasya caught the messenger up in the air and printed a long,
enthusiastic kiss on his lips, which were very much like Lizanka's.

"Kiss him, Arkady," he said handing Petya to him, and without touching
the ground the boy was transferred to Arkady Ivanovitch's powerful and
eager arms.

"Will you have some breakfast, dear? "

"Thank-you, very much. We have had it already, we got up early to-day,
the others have gone to church. Sister was two hours curling my hair,
and pomading it, washing me and mending my trousers, for I tore them
yesterday, playing with Sashka in the street, we were snowballing. "

"Well, well, well! "

"So she dressed me up to come and see you, and then pomaded my head and
then gave me a regular kissing. She said: 'Go to Vasya, wish him a happy
New Year, and ask whether they are happy, whether they had a good night,
and . . . ' to ask something else,--oh yes! whether you had finished the
work you spoke of yesterday . . . when you were there. Oh, I've got it all
written down," said the boy, reading from a slip of paper which he took
out of his pocket. "Yes, they were uneasy. "

"It will be finished! It will be! Tell her that it will be. I shall
finish it, on my word of honour! "

"And something else. . . . Oh yes, I forgot. Sister sent a little note and
a present, and I was forgetting it! . . . "

"My goodness! Oh, you little darling! Where is it? where is it? That's
it, oh! Look, brother, see what she writes. The dar--ling, the precious!
You know I saw there yesterday a paper-case for me; it's not finished,
so she says, 'I am sending you a lock of my hair, and the other will
come later. ' Look, brother, look! "

And overwhelmed with rapture he showed Arkady Ivanovitch a curl of
luxuriant, jet-black hair; then he kissed it fervently and put it in his
breast pocket, nearest his heart.
"Vasya, I shall get you a locket for that curl," Arkady Ivanovitch said
resolutely at last.

"And we are going to have hot veal, and to-morrow brains. Mamma wants to
make cakes . . . but we are not going to have millet porridge," said the
boy, after a moment's thought, to wind up his budget of interesting
items.

"Oh! what a pretty boy," cried Arkady Ivanovitch. "Vasya, you are the
happiest of mortals. "

The boy finished his tea, took from Vasya a note, a thousand kisses, and
went out happy and frolicsome as before.

"Well, brother," began Arkady Ivanovitch, highly delighted, "you see how
splendid it all is; you see. Everything is going well, don't be
downcast, don't be uneasy. Go ahead! Get it done, Vasya, get it done.
I'll be home at two o'clock. I'll go round to them, and then to Yulian
Mastakovitch. "

"Well, good-bye, brother; good-bye. . . . Oh! if only. . . . Very good, you
go, very good," said Vasya, "then I really won't go to Yulian
Mastakovitch. "

"Good-bye. "

"Stay, brother, stay, tell them . . . well, whatever you think fit. Kiss
her . . . and give me a full account of everything afterwards. "

"Come, come--of course, I know all about it. This happiness has upset
you. The suddenness of it all; you've not been yourself since yesterday.
You have not got over the excitement of yesterday. Well, it's settled.
Now try and get over it, Vasya. Good-bye, good-bye! "

At last the friends parted. All the morning Arkady Ivanovitch was
preoccupied, and could think of nothing but Vasya. He knew his weak,
highly nervous character. "Yes, this happiness has upset him, I was
right there," he said to himself. "Upon my word, he has made me quite
depressed, too, that man will make a tragedy of anything! What a
feverish creature! Oh, I must save him! I must save him! " said Arkady,
not noticing that he himself was exaggerating into something serious a
slight trouble, in reality quite trivial. Only at eleven o'clock he
reached the porter's lodge of Yulian Mastakovitch's house, to add his
modest name to the long list of illustrious persons who had written
their names on a sheet of blotted and scribbled paper in the porter's
lodge. What was his surprise when he saw just above his own the
signature of Vasya Shumkov! It amazed him. "What's the matter with him? "
he thought. Arkady Ivanovitch, who had just been so buoyant with hope,
came out feeling upset. There was certainly going to be trouble, but
how? And in what form?

He reached the Artemyevs with gloomy forebodings; he seemed
absent-minded from the first, and after talking a little with Lizanka
went away with tears in his eyes; he was really anxious about Vasya. He
went home running, and on the Neva came full tilt upon Vasya himself.
The latter, too, was uneasy.

"Where are you going? " cried Arkady Ivanovitch.

Vasya stopped as though he had been caught in a crime.

"Oh, it's nothing, brother, I wanted to go for a walk. "

"You could not stand it, and have been to the Artemyevs? Oh, Vasya,
Vasya! Why did you go to Yulian Mastakovitch? "

Vasya did not answer, but then with a wave of his hand, he said:
"Arkady, I don't know what is the matter with me. I. . . . "

"Come, come, Vasya. I know what it is. Calm yourself. You've been
excited, and overwrought ever since yesterday. Only think, it's not much
to bear. Everybody's fond of you, everybody's ready to do anything for
you; your work is getting on all right; you will get it done, you will
certainly get it done. I know that you have been imagining something,
you have had apprehensions about something. . . . "

"No, it's all right, it's all right. . . . "

"Do you remember, Vasya, do you remember it was the same with you once
before; do you remember, when you got your promotion, in your joy and
thankfulness you were so zealous that you spoilt all your work for a
week? It is just the same with you now. "

"Yes, yes, Arkady; but now it is different, it is not that at all. "

"How is it different? And very likely the work is not urgent at all,
while you are killing yourself. . . . "

"It's nothing, it's nothing. I am all right, it's nothing. Well, come
along! "

"Why, are you going home, and not to them? "

"Yes, brother, how could I have the face to turn up there? . . . I have
changed my mind. It was only that I could not stay on alone without you;
now you are coming back with me I'll sit down to write again. Let us
go! "

They walked along and for some time were silent. Vasya was in haste.

"Why don't you ask me about them? " said Arkady Ivanovitch.

"Oh, yes! Well, Arkasha, what about them? "

"Vasya, you are not like yourself. "

"Oh, I am all right, I am all right. Tell me everything, Arkasha," said
Vasya, in an imploring voice, as though to avoid further explanations.
Arkady Ivanovitch sighed. He felt utterly at a loss, looking at Vasya.

His account of their friends roused Vasya. He even grew talkative. They
had dinner together. Lizanka's mother had filled Arkady Ivanovitch's
pockets with little cakes, and eating them the friends grew more
cheerful. After dinner Vasya promised to take a nap, so as to sit up all
night. He did, in fact, lie down. In the morning, some one whom it was
impossible to refuse had invited Arkady Ivanovitch to tea. The friends
parted. Arkady promised to come back as soon as he could, by eight
o'clock if possible. The three hours of separation seemed to him like
three years. At last he got away and rushed back to Vasya. When he went
into the room, he found it in darkness. Vasya was not at home. He asked
Mavra. Mavra said that he had been writing all the time, and had not
slept at all, then he had paced up and down the room, and after that, an
hour before, he had run out, saying he would be back in half-an-hour;
"and when, says he, Arkady Ivanovitch comes in, tell him, old woman,
says he," Mavra told him in conclusion, "that I have gone out for a
walk," and he repeated the order three or four times.

"He is at the Artemyevs," thought Arkady Ivanovitch, and he shook his
head.

A minute later he jumped up with renewed hope.

"He has simply finished," he thought, "that's all it is; he couldn't
wait, but ran off there. But, no! he would have waited for me. . . . Let's
have a peep what he has there. "

He lighted a candle, and ran to Vasya's writing-table: the work had made
progress and it looked as though there were not much left to do. Arkady
Ivanovitch was about to investigate further, when Vasya himself walked
in. . . .

"Oh, you are here? " he cried, with a start of dismay.

Arkady Ivanovitch was silent. He was afraid to question Vasya. The
latter dropped his eyes and remained silent too, as he began sorting the
papers. At last their eyes met. The look in Vasya's was so beseeching,
imploring, and broken, that Arkady shuddered when he saw it. His heart
quivered and was full.

"Vasya, my dear boy, what is it? What's wrong? " he cried, rushing to him
and squeezing him in his arms. "Explain to me, I don't understand you,
and your depression. What is the matter with you, my poor, tormented
boy? What is it? Tell me all about it, without hiding anything. It can't
be only this----"

Vasya held him tight and could say nothing. He could scarcely breathe.

"Don't, Vasya, don't! Well, if you don't finish it, what then? I don't
understand you; tell me your trouble. You see it is for your sake I. . . .
Oh dear! oh dear! " he said, walking up and down the room and clutching
at everything he came across, as though seeking at once some remedy for
Vasya. "I will go to Yulian Mastakovitch instead of you to-morrow. I
will ask him--entreat him--to let you have another day. I will explain
it all to him, anything, if it worries you so. . . . "

"God forbid! " cried Vasya, and turned as white as the wall. He could
scarcely stand on his feet.

"Vasya! Vasya! "

Vasya pulled himself together. His lips were quivering; he tried to say
something, but could only convulsively squeeze Arkady's hand in silence.
His hand was cold. Arkady stood facing him, full of anxious and
miserable suspense. Vasya raised his eyes again.

"Vasya, God bless you, Vasya! You wring my heart, my dear boy, my
friend. "

Tears gushed from Vasya's eyes; he flung himself on Arkady's bosom.

"I have deceived you, Arkady," he said. "I have deceived you. Forgive
me, forgive me! I have been faithless to your friendship. . . . "

"What is it, Vasya?