BOLSHÓV. A bad business, Lázar. Well, he'll pay me back in full, out of
friendliness.

PODKHALYÚZIN. It's doubtful, Sir.

BOLSHÓV. We'll settle it somehow. [_Reads_] "Moscow merchant of the first
guild, Antíp Sysóyev Enótov, declared an insolvent debtor--" Does _he_ owe
us anything?

PODKHALYÚZIN. For vegetable oil, sir; just before Lent they took about
three kegs, sir.

BOLSHÓV. Those blooming vegetarians that keep all the fasts! They want to
please God at other people's expense. Brother, don't you trust their sedate
ways! Those people cross themselves with one hand, and slip the other into
your pocket. Here's the third; "Moscow merchant of the second guild, Efrém
Lúkin Poluarshínnikov[1], declared an insolvent debtor." Well, what about
him?

[Footnote 1: Half a yard.]

PODKHALYÚZIN. We have his note, sir.

BOLSHÓV. Protested?

PODKHALYÚZIN. Yes, sir. He himself's in hiding, sir.

BOLSHÓV. Well! And the fourth there, Samopálov. Why! have they got a
combination against us?