No harm.
Tomorrow you can lap up champagne in unlimited quantities."
By the time they emerged from the beer-hall, Bender was thoroughly enjoying himself and made taunting remarks at the passers-by.
He embraced the slightly tipsy Ippolit Matveyevich round the shoulders and said lovingly:
"You're an extremely nice old man, Pussy, but I'm not going to give you more than ten per cent.
Honestly, I'm not.
What would you want with all that money? "
"What do you mean, what would I want?" Ippolit Matveyevich seethed with rage.
Ostap laughed heartily and rubbed his cheek against his partner's wet sleeve.
"Well, what would you buy, Pussy?
You haven't any imagination.
Honestly, fifteen thousand is more than enough for you. You'll soon die, you're so old.
You don't need any money at all. You know, Pussy, I don't think I'll give you anything.
I don't want to spoil you.
I'll take you on as a secretary, Pussy my lad.
What do you say?
Forty roubles a month and all your grub.
You get work clothes, tips, and national health.
Well, is it a deal?"
Ippolit Matveyevich tore his arm free and quickly walked ahead.
Jokes like that exasperated him.
Ostap caught him up at the entrance to the little pink house.
"Are you really mad at me?" asked Ostap. "I was only joking.
You'll get your three per cent. Honestly, three per cent is all you need, Pussy."
Ippolit Matveyevich sullenly entered the room.
"Well, Pussy, take three per cent." Ostap was having fun.
"Come on, take three.
Anyone else would.
You don't have any rooms to rent. It's a blessing Ivanopulo has gone to Tver for a whole year.
Anyway, come and be my valet. . . an easy job."
Seeing that Ippolit Matveyevich could not be baited, Ostap yawned sweetly, stretched himself, almost touching the ceiling as he filled his broad chest with air, and said:
"Well, friend, make your pockets ready.
We'll go to the club just before dawn.
That's the best time.
The watchmen are asleep, having sweet dreams, for which they get fired without severance pay.
In the meantime, chum, I advise you to have a nap."
Ostap stretched himself out on the three chairs, acquired from different corners of Moscow, and said, as he dozed off:
"Or my valet . . . a decent salary. No, I was joking. . . . The hearing's continued.
Things are moving, gentlemen of the jury."
Those were the smooth operator's last words.
He fell into a deep, refreshing sleep, untroubled by dreams.
Ippolit Matveyevich went out into the street.
He was full of desperation and cold fury.
The moon hopped about among the banks of cloud.
The wet railings of the houses glistened greasily.
In the street the flickering gas lamps were encircled by halos of moisture.
A drunk was being thrown out of the Eagle beer-hall.
He began bawling.
Ippolit Matveyevich frowned and went back inside.
His one wish was to finish the whole business as soon as possible.