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"Who would entrust their property to a man who has squandered his own estate?" "Nevertheless, when death and destitution threaten, a man must either do something or starve. Shall I ask my brother to use his influence to procure you a post?" "No, no, Platon Mikhalitch," sighed Khlobuev, gripping the other's hand.
"Constantine Thedorovitch and Platon Mikhalitch? Really I must rub my eyes! Never again in this world did I look to see callers arriving. As a rule, folk avoid me like the devil, for they cannot disabuse their minds of the idea that I am going to ask them for a loan. Yes, it is my own fault, I know, but what would you? To the end will swine cheat swine. Pray excuse my costume.
You have done well to dine beforehand, for not so much as a fowl is left in the place, so dire are the extremities to which you see me reduced." "Things are going hard with me, Platon Mikhalitch," continued Khlobuev. "How hard you cannot imagine. No money have I, no food, no boots.
"Here comes Platon Mikhalitch, father!" exclaimed Aleksasha, who had been peeping out of the window. "Yes, and on a grey horse," added his brother. "Who is Platon Mikhalitch?" inquired Chichikov. "A neighbour of ours, and an excellent fellow." The next moment Platon Mikhalitch himself entered the room, accompanied by a sporting dog named Yarb. He was a tall, handsome man, with extremely red hair.
"Then here is my hand on it. Let us be off at once." Platon seemed suddenly to have come to life again. "Where are you off to?" put in their host unexpectedly as he roused himself and stared in astonishment at the pair. "No, no, my good sirs. I have had the wheels removed from your koliaska, Monsieur Chichikov, and have sent your horse, Platon Mikhalitch, to a grazing ground fifteen versts away.
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