_Pod._ That’s all right. Now you may go. (_Exit_ STEPÀN.) I am inclined to think that a black dress-coat is the most decorous. Coloured coats are all very well for secretaries, and clerks, and all that small fry—they look just fit for milksops. People higher up in the service ought to observe what is called a—a—a—a——There! I’ve forgotten the word! It’s a fine word; and I’ve forgotten it! It’s all very well to put on airs, little father, but an aulic counsellor takes the rank of colonel too; the only difference is that he has a uniform without epaulettes. Hi! Stepàn! (_Enter_ STEPÀN.) Did you buy the blacking? _Step._ Yes, sir. _Pod._ Where did you buy it? In the shop I told you about, on the Voznesènsky Prospect? _Step._ Yes, that was the shop. _Pod._ And is it good? _Step._ Very good. _Pod._ Did you try it on the boots? _Step._ Yes, sir. _Pod._ And does it shine? _Step._ It takes a beautiful shine, sir. _Pod._ And when you bought it, didn’t the man ask you what your master wants with such good blacking? _Step._ No. _Pod._ Perhaps he asked you whether your master was going to be married? _Step._ No; he didn’t say anything. _Pod._ All right; you can go. (_Exit_ STEPÀN.) One would think boots were a trifling thing; and yet if they are badly made, or not properly blacked, no one will respect you in good society. It makes a great difference, somehow.... Another horrid thing is, if one has corns. I’d be ready to put up with almost anything rather than have corns. Hi! Stepàn! (_Enter_ STEPÀN.) _Step._ What’s your honour’s pleasure? _Pod._ Did you tell the shoemaker that the boots musn’t give me corns? _Step._ Yes, sir. _Pod._ And what did he say? _Step._ He said, “All right.” (_Exit._) _Pod._ The deuce take it all! It’s a difficult business, this getting married. What with one thing and another—first this has to be set right, and then that—the devil take it all! it’s not half so easy as people say. Hi! Stepàn! (_Enter_ STEPÀN.) There’s another thing I wanted to say—— _Step._ The old woman’s come. _Pod._ Ah! she’s come? Send her in. (_Exit_ STEPÀN.) Yes; it’s a sort of thing—a sort of—a hard matter. (_Enter_ FÈKLA.) Ah! good-morning, Fèkla Ivànovna! Well? What have you got to say? There’s a chair; sit down and tell me about it. I want to hear all about her. What’s her name? Melània—— _Fèkla._ Agàfia Tikhònovna. _Pod._ Yes, yes, Agàfia Tikhònovna. I suppose she’s some old maid of forty? _Fèkla._ Well, then, you’re just wrong. I can tell you, if you marry her, you’ll come to thank me and praise her up every day of your life. _Pod._ I suppose that’s a lie, Fèkla Ivànovna? _Fèkla._ I’m old to tell lies, little father; lying’s a dog’s work. _Pod._ But the dowry? What about the dowry?