_Inspector._ Ah! I understand. _Shopkeeper._ So I said to him: “Ivàn Anàniev, you come with me to the Police Inspector.” And what d’you think he said? “I don’t care for your Inspector,” says he! _Inspector._ What’s that!—Grigòriev!... _Shopkeeper._ So I said to him: “What d’you mean?” I says; “why, any gentleman can hit you over the head if he likes, and you can’t do anything—let alone, his honour the Inspector,” says I. _Inspector._ Grigòriev! _Shopkeeper._ You see, your honour, people like us can’t pass over things of that sort, ’cause why?—we should just lose all our capital.... _Inspector._ Gri—gòriev! _Shopkeeper._ And I do say, sir, that for us the Inspector ... it’s like this, you see, ... as if—— (_Enter_ GRIGÒRIEV.) _Grigòriev._ What is it, yer honour? _Inspector._ Blockhead! _Grigòriev._ At your honour’s service. _Inspector._ Fetch Ivàn Anàniev here. _Grigòriev_ (_opening the door_). Kondràtiev! Where’s Ivàn Anàniev? Dost thou know who it is? Fetch him to the master.... Ivàn Ana—à—aniev! (_Enter_ IVÀN ANÀNIEV.) _Inspector._ What is your name? _Ivàn Anàniev._ Ha’nt got none; time to die soon. _Inspector._ What do you say? _Ivàn Anàniev._ Don’t know nothin’. _Inspector._ Take him to the lock-up. _Ivàn Anàniev._ Koùzma Petròvich ’as jes’ made it all up agin me, ’cause I wouldn’t mix up in any o’ his fine tricks. _Inspector._ Take him away. _Grigòriev._ Kondràtiev!... _Shopkeeper._ Thank you very much, sir. Nothing more to be done, I suppose? _Inspector._ Just step into the other office and write out a formal statement. _Shopkeeper._ Certainly, sir. (_Exit._) _Inspector._ Grigòriev! _Grigòriev._ What is it, your honour? _Inspector._ Give me my uniform. _Grigòriev._ Why, your honour, ’tis all mucky and spotty. _Inspector._ What! _Grigòriev._ _I_ don’t know nothing about it! _Inspector._ Can the spots be taken out? _Grigòriev._ Oh ay, your honour. _Inspector._ How? _Grigòriev._ I don’t know. _Inspector._ I think with turpentine? _Grigòriev._ And _I_ think with turpentine. _Inspector._ Only I’m afraid it’ll smell. _Grigòriev._ ’Twill stink, your honour. _Inspector._ I don’t know, though—perhaps it won’t. _Grigòriev._ Of course it won’t, your honour! (_Brings back the uniform._) ’Tis ready, your honour. _Inspector._ What? _Grigòriev._ Nothin’. _Inspector._ Does it smell? _Grigòriev._ ’T stinks, your honour. _Inspector._ Badly? _Grigòriev._ Terrible bad, your honour. _Inspector._ I don’t know—it’s nothing to hurt, I think; one can’t smell it. _Grigòriev._ Of course one can’t. Let me hold it, sir; there you be! _BEFORE THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE._ [Illustration] BY GORBOUNÒV. (_The Justice’s Court. Before the table stand two shopmen from the Apràksin market._)