hear words of wisdom.” “That’s the gentleman, Vahrushin, Afanasy Ivanovitch. And at the request of your mamma, who has sent you a remittance once before in the same manner through him, he did not refuse this time also, and sent instructions to Semyon Semyonovitch some days since to hand you thirty-five roubles in the hope of better to come.” “That ‘hoping for better to come’ is the best thing you’ve said, though ‘your mamma’ is not bad either. Come then, what do you say? Is he fully conscious, eh?” “That’s all right. If only he can sign this little paper.” “He can scrawl his name. Have you got the book?” “Yes, here’s the book.” “Give it to me. Here, Rodya, sit up. I’ll hold you. Take the pen and scribble ‘Raskolnikov’ for him. For just now, brother, money is sweeter to us than treacle.” “I don’t want it,” said Raskolnikov, pushing away the pen. “Not want it?” “I won’t sign it.” “How the devil can you do without signing it?” “I don’t want... the money.” “Don’t want the money! Come, brother, that’s nonsense, I bear witness. Don’t trouble, please, it’s only that he is on his travels again. But that’s pretty common with him at all times though.... You are a man of judgment and we will take him in hand, that is, more simply, take his hand and he will sign it. Here.” “But I can come another time.” “No, no. Why should we trouble you? You are a man of judgment.... Now, Rodya, don’t keep your visitor, you see he is waiting,” and he made ready to hold Raskolnikov’s hand in earnest. “Stop, I’ll do it alone,” said the latter, taking the pen and signing his name. The messenger took out the money and went away. “Bravo! And now, brother, are you hungry?” “Yes,” answered Raskolnikov. “Is there any soup?” “Some of yesterday’s,” answered Nastasya, who was still standing there.