‘Maximushka, my dear! my friend!’ he cried; ‘is it you?’
I looked round.… There, actually, was Maximka, stepping out from the
crowd of peasants. Grinning and showing his teeth, he walked forward.
His master, the tailor, had probably let him come home for a holiday.
‘Climb up to me, Maximushka, my faithful servant,’ Harlov went on;
‘together let us rid ourselves of evil Tartar folk, of Lithuanian
thieves!’
Maximka, still grinning, promptly began climbing up the roof.… But
they seized him and pulled him back--goodness knows why; possibly as
an example to the rest; he could hardly have been much aid to Martin
Petrovitch.
‘Oh, all right! Good!’ Harlov pronounced, in a voice of menace, and
again he took hold of the standards.
‘Vikenty Osipovitch! with your permission, I’ll shoot,’ Sletkin turned
to Kvitsinsky; ‘more to frighten him, see, than anything; my gun’s only
charged with snipe-shot.’ But Kvitsinsky had not time to answer him,
when the front couple of standards, viciously shaken in Harlov’s iron
hands, heeled over with a loud crack and crashed into the yard; and
with it, not able to stop himself, came Harlov too, and fell with a
heavy thud on the earth. Every one shuddered and drew a deep breath.…
Harlov lay without stirring on his breast, and on his back lay the top
central beam of the roof, which had come down with the falling gable’s
timbers.