What does he want with it?
Whether he shoots, or not, he keeps a gun! Of what use is it to him?
But it's a splendid thing.

I have long wanted just such a one.

I should like that gun very much: I like to amuse myself with a gun.

Hello, there, woman, woman!" shouted Ivan Ivanovitch, beckoning to her.
The old woman approached the fence.
"What's that you have there, my good woman ?" "A gun, as you see." "What sort of a gun ?" "Who knows what sort of a gun?
If it were mine, perhaps I should know what it is made of; but it is my master's, therefore I know nothing of it." Ivan Ivanovitch rose, and began to examine the gun on all sides, and forgot to reprove the old woman for hanging it and the sword out to air.
"It must be iron," went on the old woman.
"Hm, iron! why iron ?" said Ivan Ivanovitch.

"Has your master had it long ?" "Yes; long, perhaps." "It's a nice gun!" continued Ivan Ivanovitch.