Page:Taras Bulba. A Tale of the Cossacks. 1916.djvu/40

34 "How long your svlikas are. What svitkas! There never were such svitkas in the world before. Just run, one of you! I'll see whether he won't get wound up in the skirts, and tumble on the ground!"

"Don't laugh, Dad!" said the elder of them, at last.

"See how touchy they are I Why shouldn't I laugh?"

"Because you shan't, although you are my dad; but if you do laugh, by God, I'll thrash you!"

"A nice sort of son you are! What! Your dad?" said Taras Bulba, retreating several paces in amazement.

"Yes, even my father. I don't stop to consider who deals the insult, and I spare no one."

"So you want to fight me? With your fists?"

"Any way."

"Well, come on with your fists," said Taras Bulba, stripping up his sleeves. "I'll see what sort of a fellow you are at a fight."

And father and son, in place of a friendly greeting after long separation, began to plant heavy blows on each other's ribs, back and chest, now retreating and taking each other's measure with sidelong glances, now attacking afresh.