“I’ve not got your watch.”
“Then how was it that in the eating-house, you
...” I began, but David stopped me.
“Vassily Terentyev!” he pronounced in
a hollow, threatening voice, “we know for a
fact that you have the watch. You are told honourably
to give it back and if you don’t ...”
Vassily sniggered insolently.
“Then what will you do with me then? Eh?”
“What will we do? We will both fight with
you till you beat us or we beat you.”
Vassily laughed.
“Fight? That’s not for a gentleman!
To fight with a servant!”
David suddenly caught hold of Vassily’s waistcoat.
“But we are not going to fight you with our
fists,” he articulated, grinding his teeth.
“Understand that! I’ll give you a
knife and take one myself.... And then we shall
see who does for which? Alexey!” he began
commanding me, “run for my big knife, you know
the one with the bone handle—it’s
lying on the table and the other’s in my pocket.”
Vassily positively collapsed. David stood holding
him by the waistcoat.
“Mercy on us! ... Mercy on us, David Yegoritch!”
he muttered; tears actually came into his eyes.
“What do you mean, what are you saying?
Let me go.”
“I won’t let you go. And we shall
have no mercy on you! If you get away from us
today, we shall begin again to-morrow. Alyoshka,
where’s the knife?”
“David Yegoritch,” wailed Vassily, “don’t
commit murder.... What are you doing! The
watch ... I certainly ... I was joking.
I’ll give it to you this minute. What a
thing, to be sure! First you are going to slit
Hrisanf Lukitch’s belly, then mine. Let
me go, David Yegoritch.... Kindly take the watch.
Only don’t tell your papa.”
David let go his hold of Vassily’s waistcoat.
I looked into his face: certainly not only Vassily
might have been frightened by it. It looked so
weary ... and cold ... and angry....
Vassily dashed into the house and promptly returned
with the watch in his hand. He gave it to David
without a word and only on going back into the house
exclaimed aloud in the doorway:
“Tfoo! here’s a go.”
He still looked panic-stricken. David tossed
his head and walked into our room. Again I followed
on his heels. “A Suvorov! He’s
a regular Suvorov!” I thought to myself.
In those days, in 1801, Suvorov was our great national
hero.
David shut the door after him, put the watch on the
table, folded his arms and—oh, wonder!—laughed.
Looking at him I laughed, too.
“What a wonderful performance!” he began.
“We can’t get rid of this watch anyway.
It’s bewitched, really. And why was I so
furious about it?”
“Yes, why?” I repeated. “You
ought to have let Vassily keep it....”
“Well, no,” interposed David. “That’s
nonsense. But what are we to do with it?”
