CHAPTER II.
Frýbort was writing, and again striking out, correcting, thinking, and again writing. He was so deeply interested in his task that he heard neither the noise nor the hum which poured into the room through the open window from the archways and the public square. The room was a true student den, small and without ornaments or fine furniture. Four beds and a trunk standing by each bed occupied most of the space. Besides two larger tables, there was a smaller desk, at which Frýbort was sitting. In the background against the wall stood a book case. Two colored copper plates, after a French original, decorated the wall, and between them was hung a guitar.
Frýbort was reading his product over, when Miss Elis’ gentle voice was heard in the front room. A hollow bass was answering.
Frýbort folded the paper, and quickly hid it in his desk. A young man of tall and somewhat stooping figure entered. The posture was not natural but was the result of habit and of slovenly walking.
“Oh, welcome, Špína! Where do you loaf all the time?”
“I was in the park!” He sat on a trunk, and taking a slice of bread out of the drawer of the large table, began to eat it with keen appetite.
Frýbort looked silently on his colleague. He, as soon as he had eaten a little, seized a book and began to read diligently. His face was of a brownish color, his forehead low, and his nose irregular. He was especially disfigured by his large, uneven teeth, the front ones protruding almost out of his mouth.
“Špína!” the Hanák began after a while.
“I am studying.” His mate rebuffed him morosely. It was not five minutes, however, before the book flew into the corner. The student jumped up.
“May the devil take all philosophy!”
“Why so cross?”
“And who would laugh? I work myself to death like a fool, that I may get a prima here and there, and in the end I must still put the monk’s robe on! And I will not be a monk, no indeed!” He paced the small space in the highest agitation.
“What kind of bug got into your head all of a sudden? Come here, lad, come; stand here.”
“Leave me alone!”
“You will not slip out; own up, you are in love!”
The brown countenance of the inexperienced simpleminded philosopher grew red. He hesitated.
“Who told you? What—you—”
But the voice and the expression of his face were not convincing.
“Confide in me, comrade!”
“Leave me alone! To confide in you!”
The good-natured Špína never was so sullen before. Turning away, he again seated himself on the trunk.
Frýbort saw that he was ruffled and therefore kept still. After a while, taking his hat, he asked:
“Do you know if Márinka is in the store? Or is her mother there?”
“I don’t know,” Špína growled in the lowest bass, and the deepest shadow of red again flitted over his face.
Frýbort passed through the room of Miss Elis, who was preparing something in the kitchen, went out, and stopped on the top step of the narrow, winding staircase. The dusk was already settling.
That moment a pleasant, girlish, joyful song was heard from below, and immediately after ward a quick, short step on the stairs. Frýbort, descending a little lower, stopped there and stretched out his arms so that he blocked the way. Just then the girl, hurrying up the stairs, collided with him, and a light exclamation escaped her.
“Márinka, it is I.”
“Oh, let me go, mamma is in the store.”
“And we are here, and she does not see and hear us—.”
“I’ll give you this bunch of violets if you let me go. I intended to put them in a glass, but when you are so cruel I shall ransom myself.”
“Do, please.”
“Then take it. But—,” she was silenced in his arms.
“This is for the bouquet—;” and he kissed her ardently on the temple and on the blossoming soft cheeks. For a moment the girl ceased to struggle, then, tearing herself out of him arms, she leaped to the top steps and stopped. Her eyes and cheeks burned, and her hair above her clear forehead was disordered.
“Márinka, are you going for a walk?” whispered the youth.
“I am angry—.”
“To the earthworks or the park?”
“To the park—,” and she disappeared. She slipped into the living room, which was nest to the room of Miss Elis. Frýbort’s blood warmed: holding the fragrant nosegay in his hand, he went out. On the right hand side from the house door was a flour store, where Márinka busied
