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'Well, what do you say to that, old man? the prince asked Hlopakov. 'What! rrrrakaliooon, of course, simply rrrrakaliooooon! The prince roared with laughter. 'What? what? Say it again. 'Rrrrrakaliooon! repeated the ex-lieutenant complacently. 'So that's the catchword! thought I. The prince sent the red into the pocket.
The chief peculiarity of Lieutenant Hlopakov consists in his continually for a year, sometimes two at a time, using in season and out of season one expression, which, though not in the least humorous, for some reason or other makes everyone laugh.
Hlopakov knows how to gain the favour of rich scapegraces from Petersburg; smokes, drinks, and plays cards with them; calls them by their Christian names. What they find to like in him it is rather hard to comprehend. He is not clever; he is not amusing; he is not even a buffoon.
Shall we go this evening to hear the gypsies? the young man hurriedly went on in confusion. 'Styoshka will sing ... Ilyushka.... The prince vouchsafed no reply. 'Rrrrrakaliooon, old boy, said Hlopakov, with a sly wink of his left eye. And the prince exploded. 'Thirty-nine to love, sang out the marker.
'Well, I thought, on seeing Hlopakov, 'I wonder what his catchword is now? The prince hit the white. 'Thirty love, whined a consumptive marker, with a dark face and blue rings under his eyes. The prince sent the yellow with a crash into the farthest pocket.
The ex-lieutenant, Viktor Hlopakov, a little, thinnish, dark man of thirty, with black hair, brown eyes, and a thick snub nose, is a diligent frequenter of elections and horse-fairs. He walks with a skip and a hop, waves his fat hands with a jovial swagger, cocks his cap on one side, and tucks up the sleeves of his military coat, showing the blue-black cotton lining. Mr.
'Your excellency, please to come in! cried Sitnikov. The prince leaped out of the trap. Hlopakov slowly descended on the other side. 'Good morning, friend ... any horses. 'You may be sure we've horses for your excellency! Pray walk in.... Petya, bring out Peacock! and let them get Favourite ready too.
We began bargaining on the spot in the street, when suddenly a splendidly-matched team of three posting- horses flew noisily round the corner and drew up sharply at the gates before Sitnikov's house. In the smart little sportsman's trap sat Prince N ; beside him Hlopakov. Baklaga was driving ... and how he drove! He could have driven them through an earring, the rascal!
'Love ... just look, I'll do the trick with that yellow. ... Hlopakov, fidgeting his cue in his hand, took aim, and missed. 'Eh, rrrakalioon, he cried with vexation. The prince laughed again. 'What, what, what? 'Your honour made a miss, observed the marker. 'Allow me to chalk the cue.... Forty love.
In the cafe I found almost the same persons, and again I came upon Prince N at billiards. But the usual change in the fortunes of Mr. Hlopakov had taken place in this interval: the fair- haired young officer had supplanted him in the prince's favours.
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