PODKHALYÚZIN. Oh, I can't do that, Samsón Sílych. Just understand this
much: I'm absolutely not that kind of a man! To anybody else, Samsón
Sílych, of course it's all the same; he doesn't care whether the grass
grows; but I can't do that way, sir. Kindly see yourself, sir, whether
I'm hustling or not. I'm simply wasting away now like some poor devil, on
account of your business, sir; because I'm not that kind of a man, sir. I'm
doing all this because I feel sorry for you, and not for you so much as
for your family. You ought to realize that Agraféna Kondrátyevna is a very
tender lady, Olimpiáda Samsónovna a young lady whose like can't be found on
earth, sir----

BOLSHÓV. Not on earth? Look here, brother, aren't you hinting around a
little?

PODKHALYÚZIN. Hinting, sir? No, I didn't mean, sir!----

BOLSHÓV. Aha! Brother, you'd better speak more openly. Are you in love with
Olimpiáda Samsónovna?

PODKHALYÚZIN. Why, Samsón Sílych, must be you want to joke me.

BOLSHÓV. Joke, fiddlesticks! I'm asking you seriously.

PODKHALYÚZIN. Good heavens, Samsón Sílych, could I dare think of such a
thing, sir?

BOLSHÓV. Why shouldn't you dare? Is she a princess or something like that?

PODKHALYÚZIN. Maybe she's no princess; but as you've been my benefactor
and taken the place of my own father--But no, Samsón Sílych, how is it