“Is Marko the Rich at home?”
“Yes. What do you want?” replied Marko.
“I’ve come for my copeck.”
“Ah, brother! come again. Really I’ve no change just now.”
The poor man made his bow and went away.
“I’ll come to-morrow,” said he.
On the morrow he came again, but it was just the same story as before.
“I haven’t a single copper. If you like to change me a note for a hundred—No? well then come again in a fortnight.”
At the end of the fortnight the poor man came again, but Marko the Rich saw him from the window, and said to his wife:
“Harkye, wife! I’ll strip myself naked and lie down under the holy pictures. Cover me up with a cloth, and sit down and cry, just as you would over a corpse. When the moujik comes for his money, tell him I died this morning.”