TISHKA.  Ha, just try it!  I’ll sure tell, honest to goodness I will.

PODKHALYUZIN.  What are you going to tell, you devil’s pepper-pot?

TISHKA.  What’ll I say?  Why, that you scold!

PODKHALYUZIN.  Great impression that’ll make!  You’re quite a gentleman!  Come here, sir!  Has Sysoy Psoich been here?

TISHKA.  He sure has.

PODKHALYUZIN.  Talk sense, you little devil!  Was he going to come again?

TISHKA.  He was that!

PODKHALYUZIN.  Well, you can run along, now.

TISHKA.  Do you want any vodka?

PODKHALYUZIN.  Yes, I do.  I’ll have to treat Sysoy Psoich. [He gives money] Buy a bottle, but you keep the change for gingerbread.  But see that you hurry, so they don’t miss you here!

TISHKA.  I’ll be home before a short-haired girl can twist her braids.  Off I go, hippity-hop.

SCENE III

PODKHALYUZIN alone

PODKHALYUZIN.  What a misfortune!  Here’s where a misfortune has come upon us!  What’s to be done now?  Well, it’s a bad business.  Now we can’t avoid declaring ourselves bankrupt.  Well, suppose the boss should have something left over; but where do I come in?  What shall I do with myself?  Sell junk in the second-hand market!  I’ve worked, I’ve worked about twenty years, and then to be sent rambling!  Now, how am I going to settle this matter?  Perhaps with merchandise?  Here, he said to sell the notes. [He draws them out and reads them] It must be that it’s going to be possible to profit by it. [He walks about the room] They say a fellow ought to know what conscience is.  Well, of course he ought to; but in what sense must he understand that?  Everybody has conscience where a good man is concerned; but when the man himself is cheating others, then where does your conscience come in?  Samson Silych is a very rich merchant, and has hatched up this whole business now just to kill time, so to speak.  But I’m a poor man!  If I should make a little extra profit in this business—­then there can’t be any sin in it; because he himself is acting dishonorably, and going against the law.  And why should I pity him?  The course is clear; well, don’t slip up on it:  he follows his politics, and you look out for your interest.  I’d have seen the thing through with him, but I don’t feel like it.  Hm!—­What day-dreams will come into a man’s head!  Of course, Olimpiada Samsonovna is a cultivated young lady; and it must be said, there’re none on earth like her; but of course that suitor won’t take her now; he’ll say, “Give me money!” But where are you going to get money?  And now she can’t marry a nobleman because she hasn’t any money.  Sooner or later they’ll have to marry her to a merchant. [He walks on in silence] I’ll raise the dough, and bow to Samson Silych.  “Samson Silych,” says I, “I’m at an age when I must think about the continuance of