I had got home from the sugar factory four bushels of waste, intended for my pigs and hot-beds.
Well, my big boar could not, of course, wait patiently.
Whilst the foreman went to find my servant, the boar with his tusks tore the bung out of the cask, and, in a few seconds, was in his seventh heaven.
What do you say of a chap like that?
But listen further”—Rafalski peered out of one eye, and assumed a crafty expression—“I am at present engaged in writing a treatise on my pigs—for God’s sake, not a whisper of this to any one.
Just fancy if people got to hear that a Lieutenant-Colonel in the glorious Russian Army was writing a book, and one about pigs into the bargain; but the fact is, I managed to obtain a genuine Yorkshire sow.
Have you seen her?
Come, let me show you her.
Besides, I have down in the yard a young beagle, the dearest little beast. Come!”
“Pardon me, Ivan Antonovich,” stammered Romashov,
“I should be only too pleased to accompany you, but—but I really haven’t the time now.”
Rafalski struck his forehead with the palm of his hand.
“Oh, yes, what an incorrigible old gossip I am. Excuse me—I’ll go and get it—come along.”
They went into a little bare room in which there was literally nothing but a low tent-bedstead which, with its bottom composed of a sheet hanging down to the floor, reminded one of a boat; a little night-table, and a chair without a back.
Rafalski pulled out a drawer of the little table and produced the money.
“I am very glad to be able to help you, ensign, very glad.
If you please, no thanks or such nonsense.
It’s a pleasure, you know. Look me up when convenient, and we’ll have a chat.
Good-bye.”
When Romashov reached the street, he ran into Viatkin.
Pavel Pavlich’s moustaches were twisted up ferociously, a la Kaiser, and his regimental cap, stuck on one side in a rakish manner, lay carelessly thrown on one ear.
“Ha, look at Prince Hamlet,” shouted Viatkin, “whence and whither?
You’re beaming like a man in luck.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I am,” replied Romashov smilingly.
“Ah-ah! splendid; come and give me a big hug.”
With the enthusiasm of youth, they fell into each other’s arms in the open street.
“Ought we not to celebrate this remarkable event by just a peep into the mess-room?” proposed Viatkin. “‘Come and take a nip in the deepest loneliness,’ as our noble friend Artschakovski is fond of saying.”
“Impossible, Pavel Pavlich, I am in a hurry.
But what’s up with you? You seem to-day as if you meant kicking over the traces?” “Yes, rather, that’s quite on the cards,” Viatkin stuck his chin out significantly.
“To-day I have brought off a ‘combination’ so ingenious that it would make our Finance Minister green with envy.”
“Really?”
Viatkin’s “combination” appeared simple enough, but testified, however, to a certain ingenuity. The chief role in the affair was played by Khaim, the regimental tailor, who took from Pavel Pavlich a receipt for a uniform supposed to have been delivered, but, instead of that, handed over to Viatkin thirty roubles in cash.
“The best of it all is,” exclaimed Viatkin, “that both Khaim and I are equally satisfied with the deal. The Jew gave me thirty roubles and became entitled through my receipt to draw forty-five from the clothing department’s treasury. I am at last once more in a position to chuck away a few coppers at mess.
A masterstroke, eh?”
“Viatkin, you’re a great man, and another time I’ll bear in mind your ‘patent.’
But good-bye for the present.
I hope you will have good luck at cards.”
They separated, but, after a minute, Viatkin called out to his comrade again.
Romashov stopped and turned round.
“Have you been to the menagerie?” asked Viatkin, with a cunning wink, making a gesture in the direction of Rafalski’s house.
Romashov replied by a nod, and said in a tone of conviction,
“Brehm is a downright good fellow—the best of the lot of us.”
“You’re right,” agreed Viatkin, “bar that frightful smell.”
XII
WHEN Romashov reached Nikolaiev’s house about five o’clock, he noticed with surprise that his happy humour of the morning and confidence that the day would be a success had given place to an inexplicable, painful nervousness.
He felt assured that this nervousness had not come over him all at once, but had begun much earlier in the day, though he did not know when. It was likewise clear to him that this feeling of nervousness had gradually and imperceptibly crept over him.
What did it mean?
But such incidents were not new to him; even from his early childhood he had experienced them, and he knew, too, that he would not regain his mental balance until he had discovered the cause of the disturbance.
He remembered, for instance, how he had worried himself for a whole day, and that it was not till evening that he called to mind that, in the forenoon, when passing a railway crossing, he had been startled and alarmed by a train rushing past, and this had disturbed his balance. Directly, however, the cause was discovered he at once became happy and light-hearted.
The question now was to review in inverted order the events and experiences of the day.