“Say once and for all, are you going or are you not?”
“I am going, only . . . wait a little . . . I want to be at home a little.”
“In that case I will go by myself,” Lentilov declared. “I can get on without you. And you wanted to hunt tigers and fight! Since that’s how it is, give me back my cartridges!”
At this Volodya cried so bitterly that his sisters could not help crying too. Silence followed.
“So you are not coming?” Lentilov began again.
“I . . . I . . . I am coming!”
“Well, put on your things, then.”
And Lentilov tried to cheer Volodya up by singing the praises of America, growling like a tiger, pretending to be a steamer, scolding him, and promising to give him all the ivory and lions’ and tigers’ skins.
And this thin, dark boy, with his freckles and his bristling shock of hair, impressed the little girls as an extraordinary remarkable person. He was a hero, a determined character, who knew no fear, and he growled so ferociously, that, standing at the door, they really might imagine there was a tiger or lion inside. When the little girls went back to their room and dressed, Katya’s eyes were full of tears, and she said:
“Oh, I feel so frightened!”