hat it would be well if, considering the strain of the work and the
Position, they were to take it in turns to have a day or two's rest and
so relieve one another. I had had no doubt that this would be very
acceptable to them, but on my proposing it, was surprised to receive
from each of them individually an abrupt refusal even to consider the
matter. At the same time they assured me, severally, that the one or the
other of them needed, very badly, a rest. After I had spoken, Nikitin,
taking me aside, told me that he thought that Andrey Vassilievitch would
be better at Mittoevo. "He is a little in the way here," he said.
"Certainly he does his best, but this is not his place." Nikitin wore
the same preoccupied air as the others.--"Whatever you do," he said,
"don't let Andrey know that I spoke to you." Andrey Vassilievitch, on
his side with much nervousness and self-importance, told me that he
thought that Nikitin was suffering from overwork and needed a complete
rest. "You know, Ivan Andreievitch, he is really not at all well; I
sleep in the same room. He talks in his sleep, fancies that he sees
things ... very odd--although this hot weather ... I myself for the
matter of that ..." and then he nervously broke off.

But with all this they did not seem to quarrel with one another. It is
true that I discovered a kind of impatience, especially between Andrey
Vassilievitch and Nikitin, the kind of restlessness that you see
sometimes between two horses which are harnessed together. Semyonov
(he paid no attention to me at all during my visit) treated Trenchard
quite decently, and I observed on several occasions his look of
puzzled curiosity at the man--a look to which I have alluded before.
He spoke to him always in the tone of contemptuous banter that he had
from the beginning used to him: "Well, Mr., I suppose that you
couldn't bring a big enough bandage however much you were asked to.
But why choose the smallest possible...."

Or, "That's where Mr. writes his poetry--being a nice romantic
Englishman. Isn't it, Mr.?"

But I was greatly struck by Trenchard's manner of taking these
remarks. He behaved now as though he had secret reasons for knowing
that he was in every way as good a man as Semyonov--a better one,
maybe. He laughed, or sometimes simply looked at his companion, or he
would reply in his bad halting Russian with some jest at Semyonov's
expense.

Finally, to end this business, if ever a man were affected to the