"Bonus, indeed, it was out of his own pocket. He said: 'Why, you have had no money for five months, brother, take some if you want it; thank you, I am satisfied with you.'... Yes, really! 'Yes, you don't work for me for nothing,' said he. He did, indeed, that's what he said. It brought tears into my eyes, Arkasha. Good Heavens, yes!" "I say, Vasya, have you finished copying those papers?..." "No.... I haven't finished them yet." "Vas...ya! My angel! What have you been doing?" "Listen, Arkasha, it doesn't matter, they are not wanted for another two days, I have time enough...." "How is it you have not done them?" "That's all right, that's all right. You look so horror-stricken that you turn me inside out and make my heart ache! You are always going on at me like this! He's for ever crying out: Oh, oh, oh!!! Only consider, what does it matter? Why, I shall finish it, of course I shall finish it...." "What if you don't finish it?" cried Arkady, jumping up, "and he has made you a present to-day! And you going to be married.... Tut, tut, tut!..." "It's all right, it's all right," cried Shumkov, "I shall sit down directly, I shall sit down this minute." "How did you come to leave it, Vasya?" "Oh, Arkasha! How could I sit down to work! Have I been in a fit state? Why, even at the office I could scarcely sit still, I could scarcely bear the beating of my heart.... Oh! oh! Now I shall work all night, and I shall work all to-morrow night, and the night after, too--and I shall finish it." "Is there a great deal left?" "Don't hinder me, for goodness' sake, don't hinder me; hold your tongue." Arkady Ivanovitch went on tip-toe to the bed and sat down, then suddenly wanted to get up, but was obliged to sit down again, remembering that he might interrupt him, though he could not sit still for excitement: it was evident that the news had thoroughly upset him, and the first thrill of delight had not yet passed off. He glanced at Shumkov; the latter glanced at him, smiled, and shook his finger at him, then, frowning severely (as though all his energy and the success of his work depended upon it), fixed his eyes on the papers. It seemed that he, too, could not yet master his emotion; he kept changing his pen, fidgeting in his chair, re-arranging things, and setting to work again, but his hand trembled and refused to move. "Arkasha, I've talked to them about you," he cried suddenly, as though he had just remembered it. "Yes," cried Arkasha, "I was just wanting to ask you that. Well?" "Well, I'll tell you everything afterwards. Of course, it is my own fault, but it quite went out of my head that I didn't mean to say anything till I had written four pages, but I thought of you and of them. I really can't write, brother, I keep thinking about you...." Vasya smiled. A silence followed. "Phew! What a horrid pen," cried Shumkov, flinging it on the table in vexation. He took another. "Vasya! listen! one word...."