I don't want to hear. . . ."
"Well, Arkasha!" began Vasya, lying across the bed and doing his utmost to put all the dignity possible into his words." Arkasha! If you like, I will tell you; only . . ."
"Well, what? . . ."
"Well, I am engaged to be married!"
Without uttering another word Arkady Ivanovitch took Vasya up in his arms like a baby, though the latter was by no means short, but rather long and thin, and began dexterously carrying him up and down the room, pretending that he was hushing him to sleep.
"I'll put you in your swaddling clothes, Master Bridegroom," he kept saying. But seeing that Vasya lay in his arms, not stirring or uttering a word, he thought better of it at once, and reflecting that the joke had gone too far, set him down in the middle of the room and kissed him on the cheek in the most genuine and friendly way.
"Vasya, you are not angry?"
"Arkasha, listen. . . ."
"Come, it's New Year's Eve."
"Oh, I'm all right; but why are you such a madman, such a scatterbrain? How many times I have told you: Arkasha, it's really not funny, not funny at all!"
"Oh, well, you are not angry?"
"Oh, I'm all right; am I ever angry with any one! But you have wounded me, do you understand?"
"But how have I wounded you? In what way?"
"I come to you as to a friend, with a full heart, to pour out my soul to you, to tell you of my happiness . . ."
"What happiness? Why don't you speak? . . ."
"Oh, well, I am going to get married!" Vasya answered with vexation, for he really was a little exasperated.
"You! You are going to get married! So you really mean it?" Arkasha cried at the top of his voice." No, no . . . but what's this? He talks like this and his tears are flowing. . . . Vasya, my little Vasya, don't, my little son! Is it true,
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