Akím. As it's best, Peter Ignátitch, as it's best.... I mean—as it's best. 'Cos why? I'm afeared of what d'you call 'ems, some tomfoolery, you know. I'd like to, what d'you call it.... to start, you know, start the lad honest, I mean. But supposing you'd rather, what d'you call it, we might, I mean, what's name? As it's best....
Peter. All right. All right. Sit down and let's talk it over. (Akím sits down.) Well, then, what's it all about? You want him to marry?
Matryóna. As to marrying, he might bide a while, Peter Ignátitch. You know our poverty, Peter Ignátitch. What's he to marry on? We've hardly enough to eat ourselves. How can he marry then?...
Peter. You must consider what will be best.
Matryóna. Where's the hurry for him to get married? Marriage is not that sort of thing, it's not like ripe raspberries that drop off if not picked in time.
Peter. If he were to get married, 'twould be a good thing in a way.
Akím. We'd like to ... what d'you call it? 'Cos why, you see. I've what d'you call it ... a job. I mean, I've found a paying job in town, you know.
Matryóna. And a fine job too—cleaning out cesspools. The other day when he came home, I could do nothing but spew and spew. Faugh!
Akím. It's true, at first it does seem what d'you call it ... "knocks one clean over," you know,—the smell, I mean. But one gets used to it, and then it's nothing, no worse than malt grain, and then it's, what d'you call it, ... pays, pays, I mean. And as to the smell being, what d'you call it, it's not for the likes of us to complain. And one changes one's clothes. So we'd like to take what's his name ... Nikíta, I mean, home. Let him manage things at home while I, what d'you call it,—earn something in town.
Peter. You want to keep your son at home? Yes, that would be well: but how about the money he has had in advance?