only, I thought that--"

The old man broke off in confusion, while his face flushed with
the exertion of thus expressing himself. For a moment or two he
sat glued to his seat.

"You see," he went on, "I play the fool too much. I am forever
playing the fool, and cannot help myself, though I know that it
is wrong to do so. At home it is often cold, and sometimes there
are other troubles as well, and it all makes me depressed. Well,
whenever that happens, I indulge a little, and occasionally drink
too much. Now, Petinka does not like that; he loses his temper
about it, Barbara Alexievna, and scolds me, and reads me
lectures. So I want by my gift to show him that I am mending my
ways, and beginning to conduct myself better. For a long time
past, I have been saving up to buy him a book--yes, for a long
time past I have been saving up for it, since it is seldom that I
have any money, unless Petinka happens to give me some. He knows
that, and, consequently, as soon as ever he perceives the use to
which I have put his money, he will understand that it is for his
sake alone that I have acted."

My heart ached for the old man. Seeing him looking at me with
such anxiety, I made up my mind without delay.

"I tell you what," I said. "Do you give him all the books."

"ALL?" he ejaculated. "ALL the books?"

"Yes, all of them."