no place to put it.
[_Lays his pocketbook on the table_.

RISPOLÓZHENSKY. What, you, Lázar Elizárych? Extra money? I'm afraid you're
joking.

PODKHALYÚZIN. All joking aside, sir.

RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Well, if you have a little extra money, why not help a poor
man? God'll reward you for it.

PODKHALYÚZIN. But d'you need much?

RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Give me just three rubles.

PODKHALYÚZIN. Is that all, sir?

RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Well, give me five.

PODKHALYÚZIN. Oh, ask more!

RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Well, then, if you'll be so good, give me ten.

PODKHALYÚZIN. Ten, sir! What, for nothing?

RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Indeed not! I'll work it off, Lázar Elizárych; we'll be
quits sometime or other.

PODKHALYÚZIN. That's all talk, sir. The snail keeps going, and sometime
she'll get there! But here's the little business I want to put up to you