BOLSHÓV. Well, Sysóy Psoich, I suppose you've wasted a good deal of ink in your time on this pettifoggery?
RISPOLÓZHENSKY. He, he! Samsón Sílych, cheap goods! But I came to inquire how your business is getting on.
BOLSHÓV. You did! Much you need to know! Bah, you low-down people! You bloodsuckers! Just let you scent out something or other, and immediately you sneak round with your diabolical suggestions.
RISPOLÓZHENSKY. What kind of a suggestion could come from me, Samsón Sílych? What kind of a teacher should I be, when you yourself, perhaps, are ten times wiser than I am? I shall do what I'm asked to do. How can I help it? I'd be a hog if I didn't; because I, it may be said, am loaded with favors by you, and so are my kiddies. I'm too much of a fool to advise you; you know your own business yourself better than anybody else.
BOLSHÓV. Know my own business! That's the trouble; men like me, merchants, blockheads, understand nothing; and this just serves the turn of such leeches as you. And now you'll besiege me on every side and haunt me to death.
RISPOLÓZHENSKY. How can I help haunting you? If I didn't love you I wouldn't haunt you. Haven't I any feelings? Am I really a mere dumb brute?
BOLSHÓV. I know that you love me—you all love us; only one can't get anything decent out of you. Here I'm worrying, worrying with this business so that I'm worn out, if you believe me, with this one anxiety. If I could only get it over with, and out of my head.
RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Well, Samsón Sílych, you aren't the first, nor the last; aren't others doing it?
BOLSHÓV. How can they help it, brother? Others are doing it. But how do they do it; without shame, without conscience! They ride in carriages with easy springs; they live in three-storied houses. One of them will build a belvedere with pillars, in which he's ashamed to show his ugly phiz; and that's the end of him, and you can't get anything out of him. These carriages will roll away, Lord knows where; all his houses are mortgaged, and all the creditors will get out of it'll be three pairs of old boots. That's the whole story. And who is it that he'll fool? Just some poor beggars whom he'll send out into the world in nothing but their shirts. But my creditors are all rich men; what difference will it make to them?
RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Naturally. Why, Samsón Sílych, all that is in our hands.