"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."