ODKHALYUZIN. How can it be possible, Samson Silych? Knowing you, sir, as I
do, like my own father, and Olimpiada Samsonovna, sir; and again, knowing
myself for what I'm worth--what chance have I with my calico snout, sir?

BOLSHOV. Calico nothing. Your snout'll do! So long as you have brains in
your head--and you don't have to borrow any; because God has endowed you
in that way. Well, Lazar, suppose I try to make a match between you and
Olimpiada Samsonovna, eh? That indescribable beauty, eh?

PODKHALYUZIN. Good gracious, would I dare? It may be that Olimpiada
Samsonovna won't look kindly on me, sir!

BOLSHOV. Nonsense! I don't have to dance to her piping in my old age!
She'll marry the man I tell her to. She's my child: if I want, I can eat
her with my mush, or churn her into butter! You just talk to me about it!

PODKHALYUZIN. I don't dare, Samson Silych, talk about it with you, sir! I
don't want to appear a scoundrel to you.

BOLSHOV. Get along with you, you foolish youngster! If I didn't love you,
would I talk with you like this? Do you understand that I can make you
happy for life? I can simply make your life for you.

PODKHALYUZIN. And don't I love you, Samson Silych, more than my own father?
Damn it all!--what a brute I am.

BOLSHOV. Well, but you love my daughter?

PODKHALYUZIN. I've wasted away entirely, sir. My whole soul has turned over
long since, sir!

BOLSHOV. Well, if your soul has turned over, we'll set you up again.
Johnny's the boy for our Jenny!

PODKHALYUZIN. Daddy, why do you favor me? I'm not worth it. I'm not worth
it! My poor face would positively crack a mirror.

BOLSHOV. What of your face! Here, I transfer all the property to you;
so that afterwards the creditors will be sorry that they didn't take
twenty-five kopeks on the ruble.

PODKHALYUZIN. You can bet they'll be sorry, sir!

BOLSHOV. Well, you get off to town now, and after a while come back to the
girl; we'll play a little joke on 'em.

PODKHALYUZIN. Very good, daddy, sir! [_They go out._

ACT III

_Setting as in ACT I_

SCENE I

_BOLSHOV comes in and sits down in the armchair; for some time he looks
into the corners and yawns._

BOLSHOV. Here's the life; it's well said: vanity of vanities, and all is
vanity. The devil knows, I myself can't make out what I want. If I were to
take a snack of something, I'd spoil my dinner, and if I sit still I'll go
crazy. Perhaps I might kill a little time drinking tea. [