LYUBIM KARPYCH.  They say in other countries they pay you thalers and thalers for this, but in our country good people punch your head for it.  No, my boy, to steal is abominable!  That’s an old trick, we’ll have to give it up!  But, you see, hunger isn’t a kind old aunty, and you have to do something!  I began to go about the town as a buffoon, to get money, a kopek at a time, to make a fool of myself, to tell funny stories, and play all sorts of tricks.  Often you shiver from early morn till night in the town streets; you hide somewhere behind the corner away from people, and wait for merchants.  When one comes—­especially if he is rather rich—­you jump out and do some trick, and one gives you five kopeks, and another ten:  with that you take breath for a day and so exist.

MITYA.  It would have been better, Lyubim Karpych, to go to your brother, than to live like that.

LYUBIM KARPYCH.  It was impossible; I’d been drawn in.  Oh, Mitya, you get into this groove, and it isn’t easy to get out again.  Don’t interrupt!  You’ll have a chance later.  Well, then, listen!  I caught cold in the town—­it was winter; I stood in the cold, smartly dressed, in this coat!  I was blowing on my fingers and jumping from foot to foot.  Good people carried me to the hospital.  When I began to get better and come to my senses, my drunken spell was over.  Dread came over me!  Horror seized me!  How had I lived?  What had I done?  I began to feel melancholy; yes, such melancholy that it seemed better to die.  And so I decided that when I got quite well, I would go on a pilgrimage, then go to my brother, and let him take me as a porter.  This I did.  I threw myself plump at his feet!  “Be a father to me!” says I, “I have lived abominably—­now I wish to reform.”  And do you know how my brother received me!  He was ashamed, you see, that he had such a brother.  “But you help me out,” I said to him, “correct me, be kind to me, and I will be a man.”  “Not at all,” says he, “where can I put you when important guests, rich merchants, and gentry come to see me?  You’ll be the death of me,” says he!  “With my feelings and intellect,” says he, “I ought not to have been born in this family at all.  See how I live,” says he; “who’d ever guess that our father was a peasant!  For me,” says he, “this disgrace is enough, and then you must come and obtrude yourself again.”  He overwhelmed me as with thunder!  After these words I went from bad to worse.  “Oh, well,” I thought, “deuce take him!  He is very thick here. [Points to his forehead] He needs a lesson, the fool.  Riches are no use to fools like us; they spoil us.  You need to know how to manage money.” [Dozes off] Mitya, I’ll lie down here; I want to take a nap.

MITYA.  Do lie down, Lyubim Karpych.

LYUBIM KARPYCH.  Mitya, don’t give me any money—­that is, don’t give me much; just give me a little.  I’ll take a nap here, and then go and warm myself a little, you understand!  I only need a little—­no, no!  Don’t be foolish!