“I will not go.…I do not like them,” said Tyapa, morosely.

“Well, then, wake up the Deacon.…I’ll go and have a look at him.”

The Captain entered the doss-house, and stood at the teacher’s feet. The dead man lay at full length, his left hand on his breast, the right hand thrown back as if ready to strike someone.

The Captain thought that if the teacher got up now, he would be as tall as Taras. Then he sat by the side of the dead man and sighed, as he remembered that they had spent the last three years together. Tyapa entered, holding his head like a goat ready to butt.

He sat down on the opposite side of the teacher’s body, looked into the dark face, quiet and serious with its compressed lips, and began to groan:

“So…he is dead.…I too shall die soon.…”

“High time too!” said the Captain gloomily.

“It is,” Tyapa agreed. “You too ought to die.…Anything better than this…”

“But perhaps death might be worse? How do you know?”

“It could not be worse. When you die you have God to deal with…but here you deal with men…and men- what are they worth?”

“Enough!…Be quiet!” interrupted Kuvalda, angrily.

And in the darkness which filled the doss-house reigned a solemn stillness. They sat for a long time at the feet of their dead companion, glancing at him, now and then, both plunged in thought. Then Tyapa asked:

“Will you bury him?”

“I? No, let the police bury him!”

“Better if you do it.…You took the money from Vaviloff for his petition after all…and I will give you some if you have not enough.…”

“Though I have his money…still I shall not bury him.”

“That is not right. You are robbing the dead. I will tell them all that you want to pinch his money,” Tyapa threatened him.

“You are a fool, you old devil!” said Kuvalda, contemptuously.

“I am not a fool…but it is not right of friendly.”

“Enough! Be off!”

“How much money is it?”

“Twenty-five rubles…” said Kuvalda, absently.

“So!…You might give me a five-ruble note.”

“You are an old scoundrel!…” And staring vacantly into Tyapa’s face the Captain swore.