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Understanding nothing, I followed my aunt, and, as I crossed the threshold of the drawing-room, I saw my father, striding up and down and ruffling up his hair, Yushka in tears by the door and, sitting on a chair in the corner, my godfather, Nastasey Nastasyeitch, with an expression of peculiar malignancy in his distended nostrils and in his fiery, slanting eyes.

My father swooped down upon me as soon as I walked in.

“Did you give your watch to Yushka? Tell me!”

I glanced at Yushka.

“Tell me,” repeated my father, stamping.

“Yes,” I answered, and immediately received a stinging slap in the face, which afforded my aunt great satisfaction. I heard her gulp, as though she had swallowed some hot tea. From me my father ran to Yushka.

“And you, you rascal, ought not to have dared to accept such a present,” he said, pulling him by the hair: “and you sold it, too, you good-for-nothing boy!”

Yushka, as I learned later had, in the simplicity of his heart, taken my watch to a neighbouring watchmaker’s. The watchmaker had displayed it in his shop-window; Nastasey Nastasyeitch had seen it, as he passed by, bought it and brought it along with him.

However, my ordeal and Yushka’s did not last long: my father gasped for breath, and coughed till he choked; indeed, it was not in his character to be angry long.

“Brother, Porfiry Petrovitch,” observed my aunt, as soon as she noticed not without regret that my father’s anger had, so to speak, flickered out, “don’t you worry yourself further: it’s not worth dirtying your hands over. I tell you what I suggest: with the consent of our honoured friend, Nastasey Nastasyeitch, in consideration of the base ingratitude of your son–I will take charge of the watch; and since he has shown by his conduct that he is not worthy to wear it and does not even understand its value, I will present it in your name to a person who will be very sensible of your kindness.”

“Whom do you mean?” asked my father.

“To Hrisanf Lukitch,” my aunt articulated, with slight hesitation.

“To Hrisashka?” asked my father, and with a wave of his hand, he added: “It’s all one to me. You can throw it in the stove, if you like.”

He buttoned up his open vest and went out, writhing from his coughing.

“And you, my good friend, do you agree?” said my aunt, addressing Nastasey Nastasyeitch.

“I am quite agreeable,” responded the latter. During the whole proceedings he had not stirred and only snorting stealthily and stealthily rubbing the ends of his fingers, had fixed his foxy eyes by turns on me, on my father, and on Yushka. We afforded him real gratification!

My aunt’s suggestion revolted me to the depths of my soul. It was not that I regretted the watch; but the person to whom she proposed to present it was absolutely hateful to me. This Hrisanf Lukitch (his surname was Trankvillitatin), a stalwart, robust, lanky divinity student, was in the habit of coming to our house–goodness knows what for!–to help the children with their lessons, my aunt asserted; but he could not help us with our lessons because he had never learnt anything himself and was as stupid as a horse. He was rather like a horse altogether: he thudded with his feet as though they had been hoofs, did not laugh but neighed, opening his jaws till you could see right down his throat–and he had a long face, a hooked nose and big, flat jaw-bones; he wore a shaggy frieze, full-skirted coat, and smelt of raw meat. My aunt idolised him and called him a good-looking man, a cavalier and even a grenadier. He had a habit of tapping children on the forehead with the nails of his long fingers, hard as stones (he used to do it to me when I was younger), and as he tapped he would chuckle and say with surprise: “How your head resounds, it must be empty.” And this lout was to possess my watch!–No, indeed, I determined in my own mind as I ran out of the drawing-room and flung myself on my bed, while my cheek glowed crimson from the slap I had received and my heart, too, was aglow with the bitterness of the insult and the thirst for revenge–no, indeed! I would not allow that cursed Hrisashka to jeer at me…. He would put on the watch, let the chain hang over his stomach, would neigh with delight; no, indeed!