ontinually reading now. Well, we came across him lately in the
Gruzovsky district. . . . They were laying the sleepers and rails
just at the time. It's not a difficult job, but Ivan Alexandritch,
not being a specialist, looked at it as though it were a conjuring
trick. It takes an experienced workman less than a minute to lay a
sleeper and fix a rail on it. The workmen were in good form and
really were working smartly and rapidly; one rascal in particular
brought his hammer down with exceptional smartness on the head of
the nail and drove it in at one blow, though the handle of the
hammer was two yards or more in length and each nail was a foot
long. Ivan Alexandritch watched the workmen a long time, was moved,
and said to me with tears in his eyes:

"'What a pity that these splendid men will die!' Such pessimism I
understand."

"All that proves nothing and explains nothing," said the student,
covering himself up with a sheet; "all that is simply pounding
liquid in a mortar. No one knows anything and nothing can be proved
by words."

He peeped out from under the sheet, lifted up his head and, frowning
irritably, said quickly:

"One must be very naive to believe in human words and logic and to
ascribe any determining value to them. You can prove and disprove
anything you like with words, and people will soon perfect the
technique of language to such a point that they will prove with
mathematical certainty that twice two is seven. I am fond of reading
and listening, but as to believing, no thank you; I can't, and I
don't want to. I believe only in God, but as for you, if you talk
to me till the Second Coming and seduce another five hundred
Kisothchkas, I shall believe in you only when I go out of my mind
. . . . Goodnight."

The student hid his head under the sheet and turned his face towards
the wall, meaning by this action to let us know that he did not
want to speak or listen. The argument ended at that.

Before going to bed the engineer and I went out of the hut, and I
saw the lights once more.

"We have tired you out with our chatter," said Ananyev, yawning and
looking at the sky. "Well, my good sir! The only pleasure we have
in this dull hole is drinking and philosophising. . . . What an
embankment, Lord have mercy on us!" he said admiringly, as we
approached the embankment; "it is more like Mount Ararat than an
embankment."

He paused for a little, then said: "Those lights remind the Baron
of the Amale