"Oh, to be sure; by the way " The uncle took
a paper out of a box. "Take her that paper, tell her that only yesterday and by the merest chance they let me have it from the office; explain the matter clearly to her; of course you heard what I said to the official ? "
" Yes, I know, I know, I will explain it."
Alexandr clutched the paper with both hands, and stuffed it into his pocket Piotr Ivanitch looked at him.
" But what made you think of making her acquaintance ? She is not very charming, I should suppose, with a wart on her nose."
" A wart ? I don't remember. How did you notice that, uncle?"
" On her nose, and he did not notice it! What do you want from her ? "
" She is so kind and so distinguished."
" Could you not notice the wart on her nose, and yet have found out that she is kind and distinguished ? It's very queer. But stop—she has a daughter to be sure— that little brunette. Ah! now I don't wonder at it. So that is why you did not notice the wart on her nose."
Both smiled.
"But I do wonder, uncle," said Alexandr; "how you noticed the wart before the daughter ."
"Give me back the pSpeT; When you are there, I suppose you will let off all your feeling and altogether forget to shut the valve, you will make some mistake and there's no telling what you will explain."
" No, uncle, I won't make a mistake. As for papers, as you like, I won't give it then, but will go at once." And he vanished from the room.
Up to this time business had gone steadily on its usual
y
A COMMON STORY 67
course. At the office they noticed Alexandras abilities and had given him a pretty good position. And on the journal, too, Alexandr had become a person of consideration. He undertook the selection as well as the translation and correction of foreign articles, and wrote himself various v/theoretical articles on agriculture. His income was in his own opinion larger than he needed, though still insufficient for his uncle's ideas. But he was not always working for money. He had not renounced his consoling belief in another higher vocation. His youthful strength was equal to everything. He stole time from sleep, and office work, and wrote both verses and stories and historical sketches and biographies. His uncle did not now cover his screens with his compositions, but read them in silence, then gave a low whistle, or said, " Yes ! this is better than you used to do." A few articles appeared under a nom de plume. With a tremor of pleasure Alexandr listened to the favourable criticisms of friends, of whom he had a number, at his office, and at the coffee-house or at private houses. His most cherished dream—after love—was thus fulfilled. The future promised him much that was brilliant, many triumphs; a destiny—not altogether ordinary—seemed to be awaiting him—when suddenly
A few months had passed by. Alexandr was scarcely to be seen, he seemed to be lost. He went less often to his uncle's. The latter attributed it to his being busy, and did not disturb him. But the editor of the journal, meeting Piotr Ivanitch one day, complained that Alexandr kept back articles. The uncle promised to take the next opportunity of getting an explanation from his nephew. An opportunity presented itself three days after. Alexandr ran in the mornings into his uncle's apartment in a state of ex-^ ultation. There was a restless happiness apparent in every gesture and movement.
" Good morning,uncle; oh, how glad I am to see you!" he said, and was going to embrace him, but his uncle had time to escape behind the table.
" Good morning, Alexandr! Why have we seen nothing of you for so long ? "
" I . . . have been busy, uncle; I have been making an abstract from the German economists."
"Ah! why did the editor tell me such fibs then? He
\
\
68 A COMMON STORY
said to me three days ago that you were doing nothing for him—there's journalistic morality! Next time I meet him I will let him know. . . ."
"No, you must not say anything to him," interposed Alexandr; " I have not sent him my work, and that is why he told you."
" What is the matter with you ? You have such a holiday face ! have they given you an assistant pray, or the cross of honour? "
Alexandr shook his head.
" Well, is it money, then ? "
" No."
" Then, why do you look like a victorious general ? If there's nothing, don't disturb me, but sit down instead and write to Moscow to the Merchant Doubasoff, about despatching as quickly as possible the remainder of the money due. Read his letter through. Where is it? Here."
Both were silent and began to write.
" I have finished !" cried Alexandr in a few minutes.
" That's smart, you're a fine fellow! Show it me. What is this ? You are writing to me. ' Piotr Ivanitch !' His name is Timothy Nikovitch. How 520 roubles! 5200! What is the matter with you, Alexandr? "
Piotr Ivanitch laid down his pen and looked at his nephew. He reddened.
" Do you notice nothing in my face ? " he asked.
" Yes, some silliness. . . . Stop. . . . y ou are in love, " said Piotr Ivanitch. _ ^Alexandr was silent.
" It's soj then7 _ I have guesge&righj; L"
Alexandr with a triumphant smile and a beaming expression nodded energetically.
" So, that's it! How was it I didn't guess it at once ? So that's why you have grown lazy, and that's why we have seen nothing of you everywhere. The Zareyskys and the Skat-chins have been worrying me with 'Where's Alexandr Fedoritch ?' So he's been far away—in the seventh heaven!"
Eotr Ivanitch began to jwrite again.
/" W jjth yad inka Lubetsky ft" said Alexandr.
*» w l! didnt inqutffi," replied his uncle; "whoever it may be—they are all as silly as one another; it's all the same."
" All the same ! Nadinka ! that angel! is it possible you haven't noticed her ? can you say that she is like the other worldly, affected dolls ? You look at her face; what a tender deep soul lies behind it. She is not only a girl of feeling, but of thought .... a deep nature."
His uncle set to work scribbling on a paper with his pen, but Alexandr went on :
" In her talk you don't hear the hackneyed commonplace platitudes. How deeply she understands life! You poison life by your views, but Nadinka reconciles me to it."
Alexandr was silent for a minute and relapsed completely into reveries of Nadinka. Then he began again.
" When she raises her eyes, you see at once what a passionate and tender heart they interpret. And her voice, her voice! what melody, what softness in it! but when that voice sounds with an avowal .... no higher bliss on earth! -Uncle ! what a glorious thing life is ! how happy I am."
Tears were starting into his eyes; he flung himself on his uncle and embraced him with all his might.
" Alexandr !" screamed Piotr Ivanitch jumping up; "shut up your valve directly, you have let off all your steam I You silly fellow! look what you have done in one second ; just two idiocies; you have ru mpl ed my hair and spilt the ink. I thought you had quite got but of those ways. YotT "haven't been like this for a long while. Do for God's sake look at yourself in the glass; could there be a more silly countenance ? and not an idiot!"
" Ha, ha, ha! I am happy, uncle! "
"That's evident. Well, what am I to do now with the letter?" — ' . "
"Eet me—I will scrape it, and it will not be noticed," said Alexandr." He* Hung himself against "the table' wltT^a convulsive shock, began to scrape, to clean, to rub, and ru"Bbed a hole into the letter.
The ta ble tottered under the ru bbi ng an d shook the whatnot "Oh the what-not stood an alaBaster bust of Sophocles, or'iEschylus." The vibrailttrT made the respectable tragedian . first totter backwards and forwards once or twice on his I shaking pedestal; then he was shaken off the what-not, and V was smashed to shivers. _^