"Good morning, brother!"—I repeated:—"And where is the old man?"
"What old man?"—said the young fellow, slowly.
"Lukyánitch."
"Ah, Lukyánitch!"—He darted a glance aside.—"Do you want Lukyánitch?"
"Yes, I do. Is he at home?"
"N-no,"—enunciated the young fellow, brokenly,—"he, you know ... how shall I ... tell ... you ... about .... that ...."
"Is he ill?"
"No."
"What then?"