Pussy, we must decide on a career.
A hundred and fifty thousand roubles, zero zero kopeks awaits us.
We only need twenty roubles for the treasure to be ours.
We must not be squeamish.
It's sink or swim.
I choose swim."
Ostap walked around Ippolit Matveyevich thoughtfully.
"OS with your jacket, marshal," he said suddenly, "and make it snappy."
He took the jacket from the surprised Vorobyaninov, threw it on the ground, and began stamping on it with his dusty boots.
"What are you doing?" howled Vorobyaninov. "I've been wearing that jacket for fifteen years, and it's as good as new."
"Don't get excited, it soon won't be.
Give me your hat.
Now, sprinkle your trousers with dust and pour some mineral water over them.
Be quick about it."
In a few moments Ippolit Matveyevich was dirty to the point of revulsion.
"Now you're all set and have every chance of earning honest money."
"What am I supposed to do?" asked Ippolit Matveyevich tearfully.
"You know French, I hope? "
"Not very well.
What I learned at school."
"Hm . . . then we'll have to operate with what you learned at school.
Can you say in French,
'Gentleman, I haven't eaten for six days'?"
"M'sieu," began Ippolit Matveyevich, stuttering, "m'sieu . . . er . . . je ne mange .. , that's right, isn't it? Je ne mange pas . . . er How do you say 'six'? Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six.
It's: 'Je ne mange pas six jours' "
"What an accent, Pussy!
Anyway, what do you expect from a beggar.
Of course a beggar in European Russia wouldn't speak French as well as Milerand.
Right, pussy, and how much German do you know?"
"Why all this?" exclaimed Ippolit Matveyevich.
"Because," said Ostap weightily, "you're now going to the Flower Garden, you're going to stand in the shade and beg for alms in French, German and Russian, emphasizing the fact that you are an ex-member of the Cadet faction of the Tsarist Duma.
The net profit will go to Mechnikov.
Understand?"
Ippolit Matveyevich was transfigured.
His chest swelled up like the Palace bridge in Leningrad, his eyes flashed fire, and his nose seemed to Ostap to be pouring forth smoke.
His moustache slowly began to rise.
"Dear me," said the smooth operator, not in the least alarmed. "Just look at him!
Not a man, but a dragon."
"Never," suddenly said Ippolit Matveyevich, "never has Vorobyaninov held out his hand."
"Then you can stretch out your feet, you silly old ass!" shouted Ostap. "So you've never held out your hand?"
"No, I have not."
"Spoken like a true gigolo.
You've been living off me for the last three months.
For three months I've been providing you with food and drink and educating you, and now you stand like a gigolo in the third position and say . . .
Come off it, Comrade!
You've got two choices. Either you go right away to the Flower Garden and bring back ten roubles by nightfall, or else I'm automatically removing you from the list of shareholders in the concession.
I'll give you five to decide yes or no.
One. . ."
"Yes," mumbled the marshal.
"In that case, repeat the words."