"M'sieu, je ne mange pas six jours.
Geben Sie mir bitte etwas Kopek fur ein Stuck Brot.
Give something to an ex-member of the Duma."
"Once again.
Make it more heart-rending."
Ippolit Matveyevich repeated the words.
"All right.
You have a latent talent for begging.
Off you go.
The rendezvous is at midnight here by the spring.
That's not for romantic reasons, mind you, but simply because people give more in the evening."
"What about you?" asked Vorobyaninov. "Where are you going?"
"Don't worry about me.
As usual, I shall be where things are most difficult."
The friends went their ways.
Ostap hurried to a small stationery shop, bought a book of receipts with his last ten-kopek bit, and sat on a stone block for an hour or so, numbering the receipts and scribbling something on each one.
"System above all," he muttered to himself. "Every public kopek must be accounted for."
The smooth operator marched up the mountain road that led round Mashuk to the site of Lermontov's duel with Martynov, passing sanatoriums and rest homes.
Constantly overtaken by buses and two-horse carriages, he arrived at the Drop.
A narrow path cut in the cliff led to a conical drop.
At the end of the path was a parapet from which one could see a puddle of stinking malachite at the bottom of the Drop.
This Drop is considered one of the sights of Pyatigorsk and is visited by a large number of tourists in the course of a day.
Ostap had seen at once that for a man without prejudice the Drop could be a source of income.
"What a remarkable thing," mused Ostap, "that the town has never thought of charging ten kopeks to see the Drop.
It seems to be the only place where the people of Pyatigorsk allow the sightseers in free.
I will remove that blemish on the town's escutcheon and rectify the regrettable omission."
And Ostap acted as his reason, instinct, and the situation in hand prompted.
He stationed himself at the entrance to the Drop and, rustling the receipt book, called out from time to time:
"Buy your tickets here, citizens.
Ten kopeks.
Children and servicemen free.
Students, five kopeks.
Non-union members, thirty kopeks!"
It was a sure bet.
The citizens of Pyatigorsk never went to the Drop, and to fleece the Soviet tourists ten kopeks to see "Something" was no great difficulty.
The non-union members, of whom there were many in Pyatigorsk, were a great help.
They all trustingly passed over their ten kopeks, and one ruddy-cheeked tourist, seeing Ostap, said triumphantly to his wife:
"You see, Tanyusha, what did I tell you?
And you said there was no charge to see the Drop.
That couldn't have been right, could it, Comrade?"
"You're absolutely right. It would be quite impossible not to charge for entry.
Ten kopeks for union members and thirty for non-members."
Towards evening, an excursion of militiamen from Kharkov arrived at the Drop in two wagons.
Ostap was alarmed and was about to pretend to be an innocent sightseer, but the militiamen crowded round the smooth operator so timidly that there was no retreat.
So he shouted in a rather harsh voice:
"Union members, ten kopeks; but since representatives of the militia can be classed as students and children, they pay five kopeks."
The militiamen paid up, having tactfully inquired for what purpose the money was being collected.
"For general repairs to the Drop," answered Ostap boldly. "So it won't drop too much."
While the smooth operator was briskly selling a view of the malachite puddle, Ippolit Matveyevich, hunching his shoulders and wallowing in shame, stood under an acacia and, avoiding the eyes of the passers-by, mumbled his three phrases.
"M'sieu, je ne mange pas six jours. . . . Geben Sle Mir. . ."