Shiryàlov. And you know, when a man gets entangled with them, he’s like one blind. That sort of company is just ruin, Antìp Antìpych.
Antìp. You’re right there; a man loses his head altogether. There’s only one thing to do, neighbor—to get him married quick.
Shiryàlov. It’s easy to say, “Get him married”; but how am I to do it?
Antìp. How are you to do it? Well, of course, I don’t mean that you should tie him hand and foot. Just hunt up a girl with a nice little dowry, you know; and I doubt he won’t kick at it. Why should any one mind marrying? It’s nothing but a pleasure!
Shiryàlov, Why, who do you think would have him? No one but a mad woman would marry such a rake!
Antìp. You think the girls care for that? Bless my soul, that’s nothing! Why man, young bachelors are always like that. Do you remember what I was like as a bachelor? I used to drink, and sow my wild oats, and be up to all sorts of larks. My poor father just gave me up for good and all. You talk about theatres! We didn’t go to theatres, we used to be off to the dancing saloons, or to the gipsies at Grouzìna; and go on spree, drinking, for a fortnight at a time. Why, the factory hands at Preobrazhènskoye nearly murdered me over a wench; all Moscow knew about it. None the less I got Matryòna Sàvishna. All that’s stuff and nonsense; that doesn’t matter.
Shiryàlov. Ah! it’s all very well to say, “Marry him, and find a girl with a dowry.” Why, my dear fellow, now that he hasn’t got any money, he carries on like mad; but if once he were to get money into his hands, heaven knows what he’d do—he’d play old Harry with everything.
Antìp. He’d set the money in circulation. (Laughs.)
Shiryàlov. No, sir; the thing I think of doing is to put a notice in the newspapers. Like this you know: “I entrust no commissions to my son; and have no intention of paying his debts in future.” Then I’ll sign it: “Manufacturer-Counsellor-Merchant-Temporarily-of-the-First-Moscow-Guild, Paramòn, son of Ferapònt Shiryàlov.”
Antìp. Yes; that’s not a bad idea.