" ' But you haven't read it, Mihalik! ' she would be arguing loudly. ' I tell you, I swear you have not read it at all! '
" ' And I tell you I have read it,' cries Kovalenko, thumping his stick on the pavement.
" ' Oh, my goodness, Mihalik! why are you so cross? We are arguing about principles.'
" ' I tell you that I have read it I ' Kovalenko would shout, more loudly than ever.
" And at home, if there was an outsider present, there was sure to be a skirmish. Such a life must have been wearisome, and of course she must have longed for a home of her own. Besides, there was her age to be considered; there was no time left to pick and choose; it was a case of marrying anybody, even a Greek master. And, indeed, most of our yoing ladies don't mind whom they marry so long as they do get married. However that may be, Varinka began to show an unmistakable partiality for Byelikov.
" And Byelikov? He used to visit Kovalenko just as he did us. He would arrive, sit down, and re- main silent. He would sit quiet, and Varinka would sing to him ' The \Vinds do Blow,' or would look pensively at him with her dark eyes, or would sud- denly go off into a peal —' Ha-ha-ha I '
" Suggestion plays a great part in love affairs, and still more in getting married. Everybody — both his colleagues and the ladies — began assuring Bye- likov that he ought to get married, that there was nothing left for him in life but to get married; we all congratulated him, with solemn countenances delivered ourselves of various platitudes, such as ' Marriage is a serious step.' Besides, Varinka was good-looking and interesting; she was the daughter of a civil councillor, and had a farm; and what was more, she was the first woman who had bcen warm and friendly in her manner to him. His head was turned, and he decided that he really ought to get married."
" Well, at that point you ought to have taken away his goloshes and umbrella," said Ivan Ivano- vitch.
" Only fancy! that turned out to be impossible. He put Varinka's portrait on his table, kept coming to see me and talking about Varinka, and home life, saying marriage was a serious step. He was fre- quently at Kovalenko's, but he did not alter his man- ner of life in the least; on the contrary, indeed, his determination to get married seemed to have a de- pressing effect on him. He grew thinner and paler, and seemed to retreat further and further into his case.
" ' I like Varvara Savvishna,' he used to say to me, with a faint and wry smile, ' and I know that every one ought to get married, but . . . you know all this has happened so suddenly. . . . One must think a little.'
" ' What is there to think over?' I used to say to him. ' Get married — that is all.'
"' No; marriage is a serious step. One must first weigh the duties before one, the responsibilities . . . that nothing may go wrong afterwards. It worries me so much that I don't sleep at night. And I must confess I am afraid: her brother and she have a strange way of thinking; they look at things strangely, you know, and her disposition is very im- petuous. One may get married, and then, there is no knowing, one may find oneself in an unpleasant position.'
" And he did not make an offer; he kept putting it off, to the great vexation of the headmaster's wife and all our ladies; he went on weighing his future duties and responsibilities, and meanwhile he went for a walk with Varinka almost every day — possibly he thought that this was necessary in his position — and came to see me to talk about family life. And in all probability in the end he would have proposed to her, and would have made one of those unneces- sary, stupid marriages such as are made by thousands among us from being bored and having nothing to do, if it had not been for a kolossalische scandal. I must mention that Varinka's brother, Kovalenko, de- tested Byelikov from the first day of their acquaint- ance, and could not endure him.
" ' I don't understand,' he used to say to us, shrug- ging his shoulders—' I don't understand how you can put up with that sneak, that nasty phiz. Ugh I how can you live here I The atmosphere is stifling and unclean ! Do you call yourselves schoolmasters, teachers? You are paltry government clerks. You keep, not a temple of science, but a department for red tape and loyal behaviour, and it smells as sour as a police-station. No, my friends; I will stay with you for a while, and then I will go to my farm and there catch crabs and teach the Little Russians. I shall go, and you can stay here with your Judas — damn his soul ! '
" Or he would laugh till he cried, first in a loud bass, then in a shrill, thin laugh, and ask me, waving his hands:
" ' What does he sit here for? What does he want? He sits and stares.'
" He even gave Byelikov a nickname, ' The Spider.' And it will readily be understood that we avoided talking to him of his sister's being about to marry ' The Spider.'
" And on one occasion, when the headmaster's wife hinted to him what a good thing it would be to se- cure his sister's future with such a reliable, univer- sally respected man as Byelikov, he frowned and mut- tered :
" ' It's not my business; let her marry a reptile if she likes. I don't like meddling in other people's affairs.'
" Now hear what happened next. Some mis- chievous person drew a caricature of Byelikov walk- ing along in his goloshes with his trousers tucked up, under his umbrella, with Varinka on his arm; below, the inscription ' Anthropos in love.' The expression was caught to a marvel, you know. The artist must have worked for more than one night, for the teach- ers of both the boys' and girls' high-schools, the teachers of the seminary, the government officials, all received a copy. Byelikov received one, too. The caricature made a very painful impression on him.
" \Ve went out together; it was the first of May, a Sunday, and all of us, the boys and the teachers, had agreed to meet at the high-school and then to go for a walk together to a wood beyond the town. We set off, and he was green in the face and gloomier than a storm-cloud.
" ' \Vhat wicked, ill-natured people there are!' he said, and his lips quivered.
" I felt really sorry for him. We were walking along, and all of a sudden — would you believe it? — Kovalenko came howling along on a bicycle, and after him, also on a bicycle, Varinka, flushed and ex- hausted, but good-humoured and gay.
" ' We are going on ahead,' she called. ' What lovely weather! Awfully lovely!'
" And they both disappeared from our sight. Byelikov turned white instead of green, and seemed petrified. He stopped short and stared at me. . . .
" ' What is the meaning of it? Tell me, please 1 ' he asked. ' Can my eyes have deceived me? Is it the proper thing for high-school masters and ladies to ride bicycles? '
11 ' What is there improper about it? ' I said. ' Let them ride and enjoy themselves.'