KUDRIASH. We'd have given him a good scare.
SHAPKIN. How'd you do that?
KUDRIASH. Why, four or five of us would have had a few words with him, face to face, in some back street, and he'd soon have been as soft as silk. And he'd never have let on to a soul about the lesson we'd given him; he'd just have walked off and taken care to look behind him.
SHAPKIN. I see he'd some reason for wanting to get you sent for a soldier.
KUDRIASH. He wanted to, right enough, but he didn't do it. No, he won't get rid of me; he's an inkling that I'd make him pay too dear for it. You're afraid of him, but I know how to talk to him.
SHAPKIN. Oh, I daresay!
KUDRIASH. What do you mean by that? I am reckoned a tough one to deal with. Why do you suppose he keeps me on? Because he can't do without me, to be sure. Well, then, I've no need to be afraid of him; let him be afraid of me.
SHAPKIN. Why, doesn't he swear at you?
KUDRIASH. Swear at me! Of course; he can't breathe without that. But I don't give way to him: if he says one word, I say ten; he curses and goes off. No, I'm not going to lick the dust for him.
KULIGIN. What, follow his example! You'd do better to bear it in patience.