“Yes, but first give me a rub down, dearest Papa,” said Arkady in a voice which, though a little hoarsened with travelling, was yet clear and youthful. “See! I am covering you with dust!” he added as joyously he returned his father’s caresses.
“Oh, but that will not matter,” said Nikolai Petrovitch with a loving, reassuring smile as he gave the collar of his son’s blue cloak a couple of pats, and then did the same by his own jacket. Thereafter, gently withdrawing from his son’s embrace, and beginning to lead the way towards the inn yard, he added: “Come this way, come this way. The horses will soon be ready.”
His excitement seemed even to outdo his son’s, so much did he stammer and stutter, and, at times, find himself at a loss for a word. Arkady stopped him.
“Papa,” he said, “first let me introduce my good friend Bazarov, who is the comrade whom I have so often mentioned in letters to you, and who has been kind enough to come to us for a visit.”
At once Nikolai Petrovitch wheeled round, and, approaching a tall man who, clad in a long coat with a tasselled belt, had just alighted from the tarantass, pressed the bare red hand which, after a pause, the stranger offered him.
“I am indeed glad to see you!” was Nikolai Petrovitch’s greeting, “I am indeed grateful to you for your kindness in paying us this visit! Alas, I hope that, that——But first might I inquire your name?”
“Evgenii Vasiliev,” replied the other in slow, but virile, accents as, turning down the collar of his coat, he revealed his face more clearly. Long and thin, with a high forehead which looked flattened at the top and became sharpened towards the nose, the face had large, greenish eyes and long, sandy whiskers. The instant that the features brightened into a smile, however, they betokened self-assurance and intellect.
“My dearest Evgenii Vasiliev”, Nikolai Petrovitch continued, “I trust that whilst you are with us you will not find time hang heavy upon your hands.”
Bazarov gave his lips a slight twitch, but vouchsafed no reply beyond raising his cap—a movement which revealed the fact that the prominent convolutions of the skull were by no means concealed by the superincumbent mass of indeterminate-coloured hair.
“Now, Arkady,” went on Nikolai Petrovitch as he turned to his son, “shall we have the horses harnessed at once, or should you prefer to rest a little?”
“Let us rest at home, Papa. So pray have the horses put to.”
“I will,” his father agreed. “Peter! Bestir yourself, my good fellow!”
Being what is known as a “perfectly trained servant,” Peter had neither approached nor shaken hands with the young barin, but contented himself with a distant bow. He now vanished through the yard gates.
“Though I have come in the koliaska,” said Nikolai Petrovitch, “I have brought three fresh horses for the tarantass.”
Arkady then drank some water from a yellow bowl proffered by the landlord, while Bazarov lighted a pipe, and approached the ostler, who was engaged in unharnessing the stagehorses.
“Only two can ride in the koliaska,” continued Nikolai Petrovitch; “wherefore I am rather in a difficulty to know how your friend will——”
“Oh, he can travel in the tarantass,” interrupted Arkady. “Moreover, do not stand on any ceremony with him, for, wonderful though he is, he is also quite simple, as you will find for yourself.”
Nikolai Petrovitch’s coachman brought out the horses, and Bazarov remarked to the ostler:
“Come, bestir yourself, fat-beard!”
“Did you hear that, Mitiusha?” added another ostler who was standing with his hands thrust into the back slits of his blouse. “The barin has just called you a fat-beard. And a fat-beard you are.”
For answer Mitiusha merely cocked his cap to one side and drew the reins from the back of the sweating shafts-horse.
“Quick now, my good fellows!” cried Nikolai Petrovitch. “Bear a hand, all of you, and for each there will be a glassful of vodka.”
Naturally, it was not long before the horses were harnessed, and then father and son seated themselves in the koliaska, Peter mounted the box of that vehicle, and Bazarov stepped into the tarantass, and lolled his head against the leather cushion at the back. Finally the cortège moved away.