Page:Dead Souls - A Poem by Nikolay Gogol - vol1.djvu/127

Rh 'Come, promise first.'

'Very well'

'On your honour?'

'On my honour.'

'This is what it is; I expect you have a great many dead serfs whose names have not been struck off the census list?'

'Yes, I have, what of it?'

'Transfer them to me, to my name.'

'What do you want them for?'

'Oh well, I want them.'

'What for?'

'Oh well, I want them … that's my business, in fact I need them.'

'Well, I suppose you have some scheme in your head. Own up now, what is it?'

'Why, what scheme? There is nothing one could plan over such rubbish.'

'But what do you want them for?'

'Oh, how inquisitive he is! He wants to have his finger in every petty business and to poke his nose into it too!'

'And why won't you tell me?'

'What good will it do you to know? Oh well, it is just a fancy of mine.'

'Oh, all right, then: unless you tell me I won't do it.'

'Come, now, you see that's not honourable on your part: you have given your word—and now you are going back on it.'

'Well, that is just as you please, but I won't do it till you tell me.'