"That unkempt creature?"
"Why, yes."
Pavel Petrovitch drummed with his finger-tips on the table. "I fancy Arkady s'est dégourdé," he remarked. "I am glad he has come back."
"Your uncle's a queer fish," Bazaroff remarked to Arkady, in the seclusion of their room; "only fancy such style in the country! His nails, his nails--you ought to send them to an exhibition! And as to his chin, it's shaved simply to perfection. Now, come, Arkady, isn't he rather ridiculous?"
"Perhaps he is," replied Arkady; "but he's a splendid man, really."
"An antique survival! But your father's a capital fellow. He wastes his time reading poetry, and doesn't know much about farming, but he's a good-hearted fellow."
"My father's a man in a thousand."
"Did you notice how shy and nervous he is?"
Arkady shook his head, as though he himself were not shy and nervous.
"It's something astonishing," pursued Bazaroff, "these old idealists, they develop their nervous systems till they break down... so balance is lost.... In my room there's an English wash-stand, but the door won't fasten. Anyway, that ought to be encouraged--an English wash-stand stands for progress."