TISHKA. He sure has.

PODKHALYÚZIN. Talk sense, you little devil! Was he going to come again?

TISHKA. He was that!

PODKHALYÚZIN. Well, you can run along, now.

TISHKA. Do you want any vodka?

PODKHALYÚZIN. Yes, I do. I'll have to treat Sysóy Psoich. [_He gives
money_] Buy a bottle, but you keep the change for gingerbread. But see that
you hurry, so they don't miss you here!

TISHKA. I'll be home before a short-haired girl can twist her braids. Off I
go, hippity-hop.



SCENE III

PODKHALYÚZIN _alone_


PODKHALYÚZIN. What a misfortune! Here's where a misfortune has come upon
us! What's to be done now? Well, it's a bad business. Now we can't avoid
declaring ourselves bankrupt. Well, suppose the boss should have something
left over; but where do I come in? What shall I do with myself? Sell junk
in the second-hand market! I've worked, I've worked about twenty years,
and then to be sent rambling! Now, how am I going to settle this matter?