Short Fiction - Leo Tolstoy (best books to read non fiction .TXT) 📗

let me have the watch if you don’t mind. I can wait for your convenience.”

I can see that the watch is worth more than three hundred.

Very good. I pawned the watch for a hundred rubles, and carried him the ticket. “You will owe me eighty rubles,” says I, “and you had better redeem the watch.”

And so it happened that he still owed me eighty rubles.

After that he began to come to us again every day. I don’t know how matters stood between him and the prince, but at all events he kept coming with him all the time, or else they would go and play cards upstairs with Fedotka. And what queer accounts those three men kept between them! this one would lend money to the other, the other to the third, yet who it was that owed the money you never could find out.

And in this way he kept on coming our way for well-nigh two years; only it was to be plainly seen that he was a changed man, such a devil-may-care manner he assumed at times. He even went so far at times as to borrow a ruble of me to pay a hack-driver; and yet he would still play with the prince for a hundred rubles stake.

He grew gloomy, thin, sallow. As soon as he came he used to order a little glass of absinthe, take a bite of something, and drink some port wine, and then he would grow more lively.

He came one time before dinner; it happened to be carnival time, and he began to play with a hussar.

Says he, “Do you want to play for a stake?”

“Very well,” says he. “What shall it be?”

“A bottle of Claude Vougeaux? What do you say?”

“All right.”

Very good. The hussar won, and they went off for their dinner. They sat down at table, and then Nekhliudof says, “Simon, a bottle of Claude Vougeaux, and see that you warm it to the proper point.”

Simon went out, brought in the dinner, but no wine.

“Well,” says he, “where’s the wine?”

Simon hurried out, brought in the roast.

“Let us have the wine,” says he.

Simon makes no reply.

“What’s got into you? Here we’ve almost finished dinner, and no wine. Who wants to drink with dessert?”

Simon hurried out. “The landlord,” says he, “wants to speak to you.”

Nekhliudof turned scarlet. He sprang up from the table.

“What’s the need of calling me?”

The landlord is standing at the door.

Says he, “I can’t trust you anymore, unless you settle my little bill.”

“Well, didn’t I tell you that I would pay the first of the month?”

“That will be all very well,” says the landlord, “but I can’t be all the time giving credit, and having no settlement. There are more than ten thousand rubles of debts outstanding now,” says he.

“Well, that’ll do, monshoor, you know that you can trust me! Send the bottle, and I assure you that I will pay you very soon.”

And he hurried back.

“What was it? Why did they call you out?” asked the hussar.

“Oh, someone wanted to ask me a question.”

“Now it would be a good time,” says the hussar, “to have a little warm wine to drink.”

“Simon, hurry up!”

Simon came back, but still no wine, nothing. Too bad! He left the table, and came to me.

“For God’s sake,” says he, “Petrushka, let me have six rubles!”

He was pale as a sheet. “No, sir,” says I: “by God, you owe me quite too much now.”

“I will give forty rubles for six, in a week’s time.”

“If only I had it,” says I, “I should not think of refusing you, but I haven’t.”

What do you think! He rushed away, his teeth set, his fist doubled up, and ran down the corridor like one mad, and all at once he gave himself a knock on the forehead.

“O my God!” says he, “what has it come to?”

But he did not return to the dining-room; he jumped into a carriage, and drove away. Didn’t we have our laugh over it! The hussar asks⁠—

“Where is the gentleman who was dining with me?”

“He has gone,” said someone.

“Where has he gone? What message did he leave?”

“He didn’t leave any; he just took to his carriage, and went off.”

“That’s a fine way of entertaining a man!” says he.

Now, thinks I to myself, it’ll be a long time before he comes again after this; that is, on account of this scandal. But no. On the next day he came about evening. He came into the billiard-room. He had a sort of a box in his hand. Took off his overcoat.

“Now let us have a game,” says he.

He looked out from under his eyebrows, rather fierce like.

We played a game. “That’s enough now,” says he: “go and bring me a pen and paper; I must write a letter.”

Not thinking anything, not suspecting anything, I bring some paper, and put it on the table in the little room.

“It’s all ready, sir,” says I.

“Very good.” He sat down at the table. He kept on writing and writing, and muttering to himself all the time: then he jumps up, and, frowning, says, “Look and see if my carriage has come yet.”

It was on a Friday, during carnival time, and so there weren’t any of the customers on hand; they were all at some ball. I went to see about the carriage, and just as I was going out of the door, “Petrushka! Petrushka!” he shouted, as if something suddenly frightened him.

I turn round. I see he’s pale as a sheet, standing here and looking at me.

“Did you call me, sir?” says I.

He makes no reply.

“What do you want?” says I.

He says nothing. “Oh, yes!” says he. “Let’s have another game.”

Then says he, “Haven’t I learned to play pretty well?”

He had just won the game. “Yes,” says I.

“All right,” says he; “go now, and see about my carriage.” He himself walked up and down the room.

Without thinking anything, I went down to the door. I didn’t see any carriage at all. I started to go up again.

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