posterity; and I, now, Samson Silych, haven’t grudged my sweat and blood for your tranquillity.  To be sure, now, Olimpiada Samsonovna is a cultivated young lady; but I, Samson Silych, am no common trash; you can see for yourself, if you please.  I have capital, and I’m a good manager in that line.”  Why shouldn’t he give her to me?  Ain’t I a man?  I haven’t been detected in any knavery; I’m respectful to my elders.  But in addition to all that, as Samson Silych has mortgaged his house and shops to me, I can frighten him with the mortgage.  Knowing as I do the disposition of Samson Silych to be what it is, that may very easily happen.  This is the way with his sort:  once they get an idea into their head, you simply can’t drive it out.  It’s just as when, three years ago, he wanted to shave his beard.  No matter how much Agrafena Kondratyevna begged and wept, “No,” he said, “afterwards I’ll let it grow again; but for the time being I’ll have my own way.”  And he took and shaved it.  It’s the same way with this business; if I make a hit with him, or the idea strikes him all right—­then it’s sweet wedding-bells to-morrow, and that’s all, and don’t you dare argue!  I could jump from the tower of Ivan the Great for the joy of it.

Enter TISHKA with the bottle.

SCENE IV

PODKHALYUZIN and TISHKA

TISHKA. [Coming in with the bottle] Here I am!  I’ve come.

PODKHALYUZIN.  Listen, Tishka, is Ustinya Naumovna here?

TISHKA.  Up-stairs there.  And the shyster’s coming.

PODKHALYUZIN.  Well, put the vodka on the table, and bring some relishes.

TISHKA puts down the vodka and brings relishes; then goes out.

SCENE V

PODKHALYUZIN and RISPOLOZHENSKY

PODKHALYUZIN.  Ah, my respects to you, sir!

RISPOLOZHENSKY.  Mine to you, my dear Lazar Elizarych, mine to you!  Fine.  I think, now, perhaps there’s something I can do.  Is that vodka, near you?  I’ll just take a thimbleful, Lazar Elizarych.  My hands have begun to shake mornings, especially the right one.  When I go to write something, Lazar Elizarych, I have to hold it with my left.  I swear I do.  But take a sip of vodka, and it seems to do it good. [Drinks.

PODKHALYUZIN.  Why do your hands shake?

RISPOLOZHENSKY. [Sits down by the table] From anxiety, Lazar Elizarych; from anxiety, my boy.

PODKHALYUZIN.  Indeed, sir!  But I suppose it’s because you’re plundering people overmuch.  God is punishing you for your unrighteousness.

RISPOLOZHENSKY.  He, he, he!—­Lazar Elizarych!  How could I plunder anybody?  My business is of a small sort.  I’m like a little bird, picking up small grains.

PODKHALYUZIN.  You deal in small quantities, of course?