XVIII.
David closed the door behind him, laid the watch down on the table, folded his hands, and, strange to say, burst out laughing. I looked at him and laughed too. "It's a most extraordinary thing," he began: "we can't get rid of this watch in any way. It's really bewitched. And why did I suddenly get so angry?"
"Yes, why?" I repeated. "If you'd left it with Wassily—-"
"No, no," interrupted David: "that would have been foolish. But what shall we do with it now?"
"Yes, what shall we?"
We both looked at the watch and considered, Adorned with a blue string of pearls (the unhappy Wassily in his terror had not been able to remove this decoration, which belonged to him), it was going quietly. It ticked—to be sure somewhat unevenly—and the minute-hand was slowly advancing.
"Shall we bury it again, or throw it into the river?" I asked at last. "Or shall we not give it to Latkin?"
"No," answered David, "none of those things. But do you know? At the governor's office there is a committee to receive gifts for the benefit of those who were burnt out at Kassimow. They say that the town of Kassimow, with all its churches, has been burned to the ground; and I hear they receive everything—not merely bread and money, but all sorts of things. We'll give the watch, eh?"
"Yes, indeed," I assented. "A capital idea! But I thought since your friend's family was in need—-"
"No, no—to the committee! The Latkins will pull through without that. To the committee!"
"Well, to the committee—yes, to the committee. Only, I suppose we must write a line to the governor."
David looked at me: "You suppose?"
"Yes, of course we must write something. Just a few words."
"For example?"
"Well, for example, we might begin, 'Sympathizing,' or, 'Moved by'—-"
"'Moved by' will do very well."
"And we must add, 'this mite of ours.'"
"'Mite' is good, too. Now take your pen and sit down and write."
"First a rough draft," I suggested.
"Well, first a rough draft; only write. Meanwhile, I'll polish it up a little with chalk."
I took a sheet of paper, cut a pen, but had not yet written at the head of the page, "To his Excellency, to his Highness Prince" (Prince X—— was the governor of our district), when I started, alarmed by a strange uproar which suddenly arose in the house. David also noticed the noise and started, holding the watch in his left hand and the rag covered with chalk in his right. What was that shrill shriek? It was my aunt screaming. And that? That is my father's voice, hoarse with anger. "The watch! the watch!" some one cries, probably Trankwillitatin. The stamping of feet, the creaking of the stairs, the rush of the crowd, are all coming straight toward us. I am nearly dead with fright, and even David is as pale as a sheet, but his eye is as bold as an eagle's. "That wretched Wassily has betrayed us," he hisses between his teeth. The door opens wide, and my father in his dressing-gown, without a cravat, my aunt in a dressing-sack, Trankwillitatin, Wassily, Juschka, another young fellow, Agapit the cook, all hustle into the room.
"You fiends!" cries my father almost breathless, "at last we have found you out!" And, catching a glimpse of the watch in David's hand, he cries out, "Give me the watch—give it to me!"
But David without a word springs to the open window, from that into the yard, and thence into the street. Since I always, in everything I do, follow my model, also jump from the window and run after David.
"Stop them! hold them!" confused voices cry after us.
But we tear along the street, bareheaded, David in front, I a few steps behind, and in the distance we hear the clatter of their feet and their cries.