Stepanìda. Dear heart alive! What do you mean by a cheat, I’d like to know? He goes to church on all the holidays; and he always comes before any one else; he keeps all the fasts; and in Lent he doesn’t even drink sugar in his tea, only honey or raisins. Yes, my dear, you might take example by him! And if he does play a trick sometimes, like any business man, who’s the worse for it? He’s neither the first nor the last. Why, there’d be no trade without that, Antìpoushka. It’s a true saying—“No lies, no sale.”
Antìp. That’s true enough! Why shouldn’t one trick a chap if it comes easy? There’s no harm in that. Only you see, mamma, ... a man must have a bit of conscience sometimes. (Scratches his head.) After all, you know, ... one must think of one’s latter end. (Silence.) I know I can be as cunning as he is, when it comes in my way; but I always tell a chap honestly afterwards. I always say:—“Look here, friend, I fleeced you a little bit over such and such a business.” Last year, for instance, I did Sàvva Sàvvich out of five hundred roubles when we were settling up accounts; but I told him about it afterwards:—“Sàvva Sàvvich,” said I, “you’ve let a nice little five hundred slip through your fingers; but it’s too late now, friend,” said I; “only another time keep your eyes open.” He was a bit riled up about it; but we’re the best of friends again. There’s no harm in that!... Why, just lately I did that German, Karl Ivànych, out of three hundred roubles. That was a good joke! Matryòna had been buying a lot of furbelows and things in his shop, and he sent me in a little bill for two thousand.
Stepanìda. What! I never heard of such a thing!
Antìp. There, that’s no harm! Let her dress up if she likes! Well, so I thought to myself—“Surely I’m not going to give the German all that money. No, no,” thought I, “he may wait till he gets it.” So I gave him a little over three hundred roubles short. “The rest, mounseer, afterwards,” says I. “All right, all right,” says he, as polite as you please. So after that, of course he began nagging at me; every time I met him it was the same thing—“What about the money?” I got just sick of it; and one day, when I’d got my back up, that German must needs come along. “What about the money?” says he. “What money?” says I; “I paid you long ago, man; let me alone, for the Lord’s sake!” Eh! there was my German in a rage! “That’s dishonest,” says he; “that’s underhand dealing,” says he; “it’s written down in my books,” says he. And I said to him:—“The deuce knows what you’ve got written down in your books; you’d have one always paying you.” “Ah!” says he, “that’s the Russian way of doing business; no German would do that. I’ll go to law,” says he. Well, what can you do with a man like that? It’s for all the world like a sick man and his nurse! (Both laugh.) “All right,” says I; “much you’ll get from lawyering!” Well, he went to law; and of course I simply denied it. I stuck to my point, that I’d paid and knew nothing more about it. Oh! what a laugh we had over that German! He was just wild. “It’s dishonest,” says he. So after it was all over, I said to him—“Karl Ivànych, I’d have given you that money, only I couldn’t spare it.” You should have seen how our shopkeepers shook their fat paunches with laughing! (Both laugh.) For that matter, why should I pay up all his bill? That’s too much of a good thing. They stick on any price they like; and people are silly enough to believe them. I’d do the same thing again if a man won’t give credit. That’s my way, mamma, and I see no harm in it. But Shiryàlov—he’s no better than a Jew; he’d cheat his own father! It’s true, mamma; and he’ll look you right in the face and tell you lies—and then pretends to be a saint! (Enter Shiryàlov.) Ah! Paramòn Ferapòntych, glad to see you; how do you do?
Shiryàlov. How do you do, neighbours? (Bows.) Antìp Antìpych! Good evening, friend. (They kiss.) Little mother, Stepanìda Trofimovna, good evening. (They kiss.)
Antìp. Sit down, Paramòn Ferapòntych.
Stepanìda. Sit down, little father.
Shiryàlov (sits down). Well, little mother, and how are you getting on?
Stepanìda. Badly enough, little father; I’m getting old. And how goes the world with you?
Shiryàlov. Ah! little mother! last week I was taken bad all on a sudden. Good Lord I how sharply it did catch me; I was downright frightened, I can tell you. First of all, ma’am, I got a pain in my bones; I assure you, every little bone and joint ached of itself; just ached as if it would all go to pieces, ma’am. The Lord sends us these trials, little mother, as a chastisement for our sins. And then, ma’am, it went into the middle of my back.