_Antìp._ There, that’s no harm! Let her dress up if she likes! Well, so I thought to myself—“Surely I’m not going to give the German all that money. No, no,” thought I, “he may wait till he gets it.” So I gave him a little over three hundred roubles short. “The rest, mounseer, afterwards,” says I. “All right, all right,” says he, as polite as you please. So after that, of course he began nagging at me; every time I met him it was the same thing—“What about the money?” I got just sick of it; and one day, when I’d got my back up, that German must needs come along. “What about the money?” says he. “What money?” says I; “I paid you long ago, man; let me alone, for the Lord’s sake!” Eh! there was my German in a rage! “That’s dishonest,” says he; “that’s underhand dealing,” says he; “it’s written down in my books,” says he. And I said to him:—“The deuce knows what you’ve got written down in your books; you’d have one always paying you.” “Ah!” says he, “that’s the Russian way of doing business; no German would do that. I’ll go to law,” says he. Well, what can you do with a man like that? It’s for all the world like a sick man and his nurse! (_Both laugh._) “All right,” says I; “much you’ll get from lawyering!” Well, he went to law; and of course I simply denied it. I stuck to my point, that I’d paid and knew nothing more about it. Oh! what a laugh we had over that German! He was just wild. “It’s dishonest,” says he. So after it was all over, I said to him—“Karl Ivànych, I’d have given you that money, only I couldn’t spare it.” You should have seen how our shopkeepers shook their fat paunches with laughing! (_Both laugh._) For that matter, why should I pay up all his bill? That’s too much of a good thing. They stick on any price they like; and people are silly enough to believe them. I’d do the same thing again if a man won’t give credit. That’s my way, mamma, and I see no harm in it. But Shiryàlov—he’s no better than a Jew; he’d cheat his own father! It’s true, mamma; and he’ll look you right in the face and tell you lies—and then pretends to be a saint! (_Enter_ SHIRYÀLOV.) Ah! Paramòn Ferapòntych, glad to see you; how do you do? _Shiryàlov._ How do you do, neighbours? (_Bows._) Antìp Antìpych! Good evening, friend. (_They kiss._) Little mother, Stepanìda Trofimovna, good evening. (_They kiss._) _Antìp._ Sit down, Paramòn Ferapòntych. _Stepanìda._ Sit down, little father. _Shiryàlov (sits down)._ Well, little mother, and how are you getting on? _Stepanìda._ Badly enough, little father; I’m getting old. And how goes the world with you?