“Have one of mine. I have got five,” replied Riasantzeff. To him, Yourii was the brother of Lialia, and he was anxious to be as kind to him as possible. He therefore insisted upon Yourii’s acceptance of one of his guns, eagerly displaying them all, taking them to pieces, and explaining their make. He even fired at a target in the yard, so that at last Yourii laughingly accepted a gun and some cartridges, much to Riasantzeff’s pleasure.
“That’s first-rate!” he said, “I had meant to get some duck-shooting to-morrow, so we’ll go together, shall we?”
“I should like it very much,” replied Yourii.
When he got home he spent nearly two hours examining his gun, fingering the lock, and taking aim at the lamp. He then carefully greased his old shooting-boots.
On the following day, towards evening, Riasantzeff, fresh, hearty as ever, drove up in a droschky with a smart bay to fetch Yourii.
“Are you ready?” he called out to him through the open window.
Yourii, who had already donned cartridge-belt and game bag, and carried his gun, came out, looking somewhat overweighted and ill at ease.
“I’m ready, I’m ready,” he said.
Riasantzeff, who was lightly and comfortably clad, seemed somewhat astonished at Yourii’s accoutrements.
“You’ll find those things too heavy,” he said, smiling. “Take them all off and put them here. You needn’t wear them till we get there.” He helped Yourii to divest himself of his shooting-kit and placed them underneath the seat. Then they drove away at a good pace. The day was drawing to a close, but it was still warm and dusty. The droschky swayed from side to side so that Yourii had to hold tightly to the seat. Riasantzeff talked and laughed the whole time, and Yourii was compelled to join in his merriment. When they got out into the fields where the stiff meadow-grass lightly brushed against their feet it was cooler, and there was no dust.