A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES
'Not with your money I hope? Hey? Well, well, all right; I will speak to him, I will speak to him. But I don't know,' continued the old man with a troubled face; 'this Garpentchenko, God forgive him! is a shark; he buys up debts, lends money at interest, purchases estates at auctions. . . . And who brought him into our parts? Ugh, I can't bear these new-comers! One won't get an answer out of him very quickly . . . However, we shall see.'
'Try to manage it, uncle.'
'Very well, I will see to it. Only you take care; take care of yourself! There, there, don't defend yourself. . . . God bless you! God bless you! . . . Only take care for the future, or else, Mitya, upon my word, it will go ill with you . . . Upon my word, you will come to grief. . . . I can't always screen you and I myself am not a man of influence. There, go now, and God be with you!'
Mitya went away. Tatyana Ilyinitchna went out after him.
'Give him some tea, you soft-hearted creature,' cried Ovsyanikov after her. 'He's not a stupid fellow,' he continued, 'and he's a good heart, but I feel afraid for him. . . . But pardon me for having so long kept you occupied with such details.'
The door from the hall opened. A short grizzled little man came in, in a velvet coat.
'Ah, Frantz Ivanitch!' cried Ovsyanikov, 'good day to you. Is God merciful to you?'
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