‘There, at the house. Haven’t you? Go! What is there for you to do here? Go! It’s useless talking to me. I don’t like it.’
He was silent for a while.
‘You’d like to be always idling about with a gun! In my young days I used to be inclined the same way too. Only my father was strict and made me respect him too. Mind you, very different from fathers nowadays. My father flogged me with a horsewhip, and that was the end of it! I’d to give up idling about! And so I respected him.… Oo!… Yes!…’
Harlov paused again.
‘Don’t you stop here,’ he began again. ‘You go along to the house. Things are managed there now—it’s first-rate. Volodka’.… Here he faltered for a second. ‘Our Volodka’s a good hand at everything. He’s a fine fellow! yes, indeed, and a fine scoundrel too!’
I did not know what to say; Martin Petrovitch spoke very tranquilly.
‘And you go and see my daughters. You remember, I daresay, I had daughters. They’re managers too … clever ones. But I’m growing old, my lad; I’m on the shelf. Time to repose, you know.…’
‘Nice sort of repose!’ I thought, glancing round. ‘Martin Petrovitch!’ I uttered aloud, ‘you really must come and see us.’
Harlov looked at me. ‘Go along, my lad, I tell you.’
‘Don’t hurt mamma’s feelings; come and see us.’