AKIM. It's true, at first it does seem what d'you call it ... "knocks one clean over," you know,--the smell, I mean. But one gets used to it, and then it's nothing, no worse than malt grain, and then it's, what d'you call it, ... pays, pays, I mean. And as to the smell being, what d'you call it, it's not for the likes of us to complain. And one changes one's clothes. So we'd like to take what's his name ... NIKITA, I mean, home. Let him manage things at home while I, what d'you call it,--earn something in town. PETER. You want to keep your son at home? Yes, that would be well: but how about the money he has had in advance? AKIM. That's it, that's it! It's just as you Say, Ignatitch, it's just what d'you call it. 'Cos why? If you go into service, it's as good as if you had sold yourself, they say. That will be all right. I mean he may stay and serve his time, only he must, what d'you call it, get married. I mean--so: you let him off for a little while, that he may, what d'you call it? PETER. Yes, we could manage that. MATRYONA. Ah, but it's not yet settled between ourselves, Peter Ignatitch. I'll speak to you as I would before God, and you may judge between my old man and me. He goes on harping on that marriage. But just ask--who it is he wants him to marry. If it were a girl of the right sort now--I am not my child's enemy, but the wench is not honest. AKIM. No, that's wrong! Wrong, I say. 'Cos why? She, that same girl-- it's my son as has offended, offended the girl I mean. PETER. How offended? AKIM. That's how. She's what d'you call it, with him, with my son, NIKITA. With Nikita, what d'you call it, mean. MATRYONA. You wait a bit, my tongue runs smoother--let me tell it. You know, this lad of ours lived at the railway before he came to you. There was a girl there as kept dangling after him. A girl of no account, you know; her name's Marina. She used to cook for the men. So now this same girl accuses our son, Nikita, that he, so to say, deceived her. PETER. Well, there's nothing good in that. MATRYONA. But she's no honest girl herself; she runs after the fellows like a common slut. AKIM. There you are again, old woman, and it's not at all what d'you call it, it's all not what d'you call it, I mean.... MATRYONA. There now, that's all the sense one gets from my old owl-- "what d'you call it, what d'you call it," and he doesn't know himself what he means. Peter Ignatitch, don't listen to me, but go yourself and ask any one you like about the girl, everybody will say the same. She's just a homeless good-for-nothing. PETER. You know, Daddy Akim, if that's how things are, there's no reason for him to marry her. A daughter-in-law's not like a shoe, you can't kick her off. AKIM (excitedly). It's false, old woman, it's what d'you call it, false; I mean, about the girl; false! 'Cos why? The lass is a good lass, a very good lass, you know. I'm sorry, sorry for the lassie, I mean.