AKIM. It turns out worse! But when it's the right way--God's way--it what d'you call it, it gives one joy; seems pleasant, I mean. So I reckon, you see, get him, the lad, I mean, get him to marry her, to keep him from sin, I mean, and let him what d'you call it at home, as it's lawful, I mean, while I go and get the job in town. The work is of the right sort--it's payin', I mean. And in God's sight it's what d'you call it--it's best, I mean. Ain't she an orphan? Here, for example, a year ago some fellows went and took timber from the steward,--thought they'd do the steward, you know. Yes, they did the steward, but they couldn't what d'you call it--do God, I mean. Well, and so.... [Enter NIKITA and NAN. NIKITA. You called me? [Sits down and takes out his tobacco-pouch. PETER (in a low, reproachful voice). What are you thinking about--have you no manners? Your father is going to speak to you, and you sit down and fool about with tobacco. Come, get up! [NIKITA rises, leans carelessly with his elbow on the table, and smiles. AKIM. It seems there's a complaint, you know, about you, Nikita--a complaint, I mean, a complaint. NIKITA. Who's been complaining? AKIM. Complaining? It's a maid, an orphan maid, complaining, I mean. It's her, you know--a complaint against you, from Marina, I mean. NIKITA (laughs). Well, that's a good one. What's the complaint? And who's told you--she herself? AKIM. It's I am asking you, and you must now, what d'you call it, give me an answer. Have you got mixed up with the lass, I mean--mixed up, you know? NIKITA. I don't know what you mean. What's up? AKIM. Foolin', I mean, what d'you call it? foolin'. Have you been foolin' with her, I mean? NIKITA. Never mind what's been! Of course one does have some fun with a cook now and then to while away the time. One plays the concertina and gets her to dance. What of that? PETER. Don't shuffle, Nikita, but answer your father straight out. AKIM (solemnly). You can hide it from men but not from God, Nikita. You, what d'you call it--think, I mean, and don't tell lies. She's an orphan; so, you see, any one is free to insult her. An orphan, you see. So you should say what's rightest. NIKITA. But what if I have nothing to say? I have told you everything --because there isn't anything to tell, that's flat! (Getting excited.) She can go and say anything about me, same as if she was speaking of one as is dead. Why don't she say anything about Fedka Mikishin? Besides, how's this, that one mayn't even have a bit of fun nowadays? And as for her, well, she's free to say anything she likes. AKIM. Ah, Nikita, mind! A lie will out. Did anything happen?