“Tig!” cried the German. “I not vill let you to tig ze crocodile! Now shall bery mush publikum be come, and I shall fifety kopeck take, and Karlchen shall leave off to berst.”
“Gott sei Dank!” added the mother.
“They are right,” calmly remarked Ivan Matvyèich; “the economic principle before everything.”
“Dear friend!” I exclaimed; “I will fly at once to the authorities and complain, for I feel convinced that we can’t settle this hash by ourselves.”
“I also am of that opinion,” said Ivan Matvyèich; “but without an economic remuneration it is hard, in our age of financial crisis, to rip open the belly of a crocodile, and, nevertheless, we are confronted with the inevitable question: What will the owner take for his crocodile? With this there is also another question: Who is to pay? For you know I have not the means.”
“Couldn’t you get your salary in advance?”... I began, timidly; but the German instantly interrupted—
“I not sell ze crocodile. I tree tausend sell ze crocodile, I four tausend sell ze crocodile! Now shall mush publikum come. I fife tausend sell ze crocodile!”
In a word, he carried it with a high hand; avarice and greed shone triumphantly in his eyes.
“I will go!” I cried, indignantly.
“And I! And I, too! I will go to Andrey Osìpych himself—I will move him with my tears!” wailed Elyòna Ivànovna.