"I really cannot offer you more, my dear Michael Semenovitch, believe me, on my honour, I cannot. What cannot be done that might be done?' said Tchichikoff; yet, notwithstanding, he made an addition of half a rouble.
"Why are you so niggardly?" said Sobakevitch; "it is really not dear. Another scoundrel would cheat you; he would not sell you real serfs like I do, but some worthless stuff; all mine are like green hazel-nuts, all picked men; and if they are not artizans by profession, still they are strong, healthy, and fit for everything. Just let us examine them a little. There is, for an example, my former cart-maker, Micheeff; he never worked at anything less than a spring-cart. And, if you please, not such workmanship as they sell you at Moscow, which lasts for an hour, and not longer; oh no, his work was of first-rate durability, and besides, he used to do the carving and polishing work as well."
Tchichikoff opened his mouth, with the intention of making the observation, that the peasant Micheeff, the spring-cart maker, had already left this world for some time; but Sobakevitch entered suddenly, as the phrase goes, with spirit into the nature of the subject, Heaven only knows whence he derived his power of language and vigour of expression; however, he continued:
"And my Stephan, the joiner! I'd wager my head, that you cannot find me another peasant like he was. He was a regular Hercules! If he had served in the guards, he would have been one of the finest soldiers in the regiment, he was above seven feet high!"
Tchichikoff was again on the point of making the observation, that Stephan had also departed this world; but Sobakevitch, as it appeared, was carried away by his subject, his flow of language was not easily to be stopped, now was the time to listen to him.
"Milushkin, the potter, was capable of putting you a stove in any part of the house. Again, Maxim Teliatnikoff, the shoemaker; whatever he pierced with his awl, became a pair of boots, and whatever boots he made, for such I paid him the compliment of a thank you. And Germei Sorokopleokin! I can assure you that this fellow alone was worth all the others, he used to hawk about in Moscow, and paid me an annual quit-rent of five hundred roubles. Such were the people, and far from such stuff as you might buy from a fellow like Pluschkin."
"But allow me to observe," Tchichikoff at last said, quite bewildered by such an abundance of words, to which there promised now to be no end, "why do you enumerate all their former professions? all these qualities are of no use to them or others now, because all these people are dead, at this time being."
"Oh, yes, to be sure, they are dead," said Sobakevitch, as if considering and recollecting suddenly, that they were in reality all dead and gone, and then he added, "however, I must observe, what are the people now reckoned as living? yes, what are these people? flies, but not men!"
"But for all that they exist, and that is a point of imagination."
"Oh no, not at all a point of imagination! I will describe to you what a fellow my Micheeff was, and I am sure you will not be able to find many more like him; he was of such a size, that he could not have entered this room, and that is no point of imagination! And in his shoulders, he possessed such power as you will rarely meet with in a horse; I am therefore curious to know where you could find such another point of imagination?"