David shut the door after him, put the watch on the table, folded his
arms and--oh, wonder!--laughed. Looking at him I laughed, too.
"What a wonderful performance!" he began. "We can't get rid of this
watch anyway. It's bewitched, really. And why was I so furious about
it?"
"Yes, why?" I repeated. "You ought to have let Vassily keep it...."
"Well, no," interposed David. "That's nonsense. But what are we to do
with it?"
"Yes! what?"
We both stared at the watch and pondered. Adorned with a chain of pale
blue beads (the luckless Vassily in his haste had not removed this
chain which belonged to him) it was calmly doing its work: ticking
somewhat irregularly, it is true, and slowly moving its copper minute
hand.
"Shall we bury it again? Or put it in the stove," I suggested at last.
"Or, I tell you what: shouldn't we take it to Latkin?"
"No," answered David. "That's not the thing. I know what: they have
set up a committee at the governor's office and are collecting
subscriptions for the benefit of the people of Kasimov. The town has
been burnt to ashes with all its churches. And I am told they take
anything, not only bread and money, but all sorts of things. Shall we
send the watch there?"
"Yes! yes!" I answered. "A splendid idea. But I thought that since
your friends are in want...."
"No, no; to the committee; the Latkins will manage without it. To the
committee."
"Well, if it is to be the committee, let it be. Only, I imagine, we
must write something to the governor."