MÍTRITCH. My old woman has found her right place, old fellow. She's hanging about the gin-shops in town. She's a swell too; one eye knocked out, and the other black, and her muzzle twisted to one side. And she's never sober; drat her! AKÍM. Oh, oh, oh, how's that? MÍTRITCH. And where's a soldier's wife to go? She has found her right place. [Silence]. AKÍM [to Anísya] And Nikíta,--has he what d'you call it, taken anything up to town? I mean, anything to sell? ANÍSYA [laying the table and serving up] No, he's taken nothing. He's gone to get money from the bank. AKÍM [sitting down to supper] Why? D'you wish to put it to another use, the money I mean? ANÍSYA. No, we don't touch it. Only some twenty or thirty roubles as have come due; they must be taken. AKÍM. Must be taken. Why take it, the money I mean? You'll take some to-day I mean, and some to-morrow; and so you'll what d'you call it, take it all, I mean. ANÍSYA. We get this besides. The money is all safe. AKÍM. All safe? How's that, safe? You take it, and it what d'you call it, it's all safe. How's that? You put a heap of meal into a bin, or a barn, I mean, and go on taking meal, will it remain there what d'you call it, all safe I mean? That's, what d'you call it, it's cheating. You'd better find out, or else they'll cheat you. Safe indeed! I mean you what d'ye call ... you take it and it remains all safe there? ANÍSYA. I know nothing about it. Iván Moséitch advised us at the time. "Put the money in the bank," he said, "the money will be safe, and you'll get interest," he said. MÍTRITCH [having finished his supper] That's so. I've lived with a tradesman. They all do like that. Put the money in the bank, then lie down on the oven and it will keep coming in. AKÍM. That's queer talk. How's that--what d'ye call, coming in, how's that coming in, and they, who do they get it from I mean, the money I mean? ANÍSYA. They take the money out of the bank. MÍTRITCH. Get along! 'Tain't a thing a woman can understand! You look here, I'll make it all clear to you. Mind and remember. You see, suppose you've got some money, and I, for instance, have spring coming on, my land's idle, I've got no seeds, or I have to pay taxes. So, you see, I go to you. "Akím," I say, "give us a ten-rouble note, and when I've harvested in autumn I'll return it, and till two acres for you besides, for having obliged me!" And you, seeing I've something to fall back on--a horse say, or a cow--you say, "No, give two or three roubles for the obligation," and there's an end of it. I'm stuck in the mud, and can't do without. So I say, "All right!" and take a tenner. In the autumn, when I've made my turnover, I bring it back, and you squeeze the extra three roubles out of me. AKÍM. Yes, but that's what peasants do when they what d'ye call it, when they forget God. It's not honest, I mean, it's no good, I mean.