r home use.

BOLSHOV. A bad business, Lazar. Well, he'll pay me back in full, out of
friendliness.

PODKHALYUZIN. It's doubtful, Sir.

BOLSHOV. We'll settle it somehow. [_Reads_] "Moscow merchant of the first
guild, Antip Sysoyev Enotov, declared an insolvent debtor--" Does _he_ owe
us anything?

PODKHALYUZIN. For vegetable oil, sir; just before Lent they took about
three kegs, sir.

BOLSHOV. Those blooming vegetarians that keep all the fasts! They want to
please God at other people's expense. Brother, don't you trust their sedate
ways! Those people cross themselves with one hand, and slip the other into
your pocket. Here's the third; "Moscow merchant of the second guild, Efrem
Lukin Poluarshinnikov[1], declared an insolvent debtor." Well, what about
him?

[Footnote 1: Half a yard.]

PODKHALYUZIN. We have his note, sir.

BOLSHOV. Protested?

PODKHALYUZIN. Yes, sir. He himself's in hiding, sir.

BOLSHOV. Well! And the fourth there, Samopalov. Why! have they got a
combination against us?

PODKHALYUZIN. Such an underhanded gang, sir.

BOLSHOV. [_Turning over the pages_] One couldn't get through reading them
until to-morrow. Take it away!

PODKHALYUZIN. They only dirty the paper. What a moral lesson for the whole
merchant corporation! [_Silence_.

RISPOLOZHENSKY. Good-by, Samson Silych, I'll run home now; I have some
little matters to look after.

BOLSHOV. You might sit a little while longer.

RISPOLOZHENSKY. No, confound it, Samson Silych, I haven't time. I'll come
to you as early as possible to-morrow morning.

BOLSHOV. Well, as you choose!

RISPOLOZHENSKY. Good-by! Good-by, Lazar Elizarych! [_He goes out_.

SCENE XII

BOLSHOV _and_ PODKHALYUZIN

BOLSHOV. Now consider, Lazar, what trading's like: just think about it. You
think it's getting money for nothing? "Money, not much!" they tell you;
"ain't seen any for a long time. Take my note," they say. But what are
you going to get from some people on a note? Here I have about a hundred
thousand rubles' worth of 'em lying around, and with protests. You don't
do anything but add to the heap each year. If you want, I'll sell you the
whole pile for half a ruble in silver. You'll never catch the men who
signed 'em even with bloodhounds. Some have died off, some have run away;
there's not even a single man to put in the pen. Suppose you do send one
there, Lazar, that doesn't do you any good; some of 'em will hold on so
that you can't smoke 'em ou