'I am going to see somebody,' said Tchitchikov.
'Come, what does somebody matter? Chuck him, come home with me!'
'I can't, I can't, I have business.'
'There now, it's business! What next. Oh you. Opodeldoc Ivanitch!'
'I really have business and very urgent business too.'
'I bet you are lying. Come tell me, who is it you are going to see?'
'Why, Sobakevitch.'
At this point Nozdryov burst into a loud resounding guffaw, laughing as only a man in the best of health laughs when every one of his teeth white as sugar are displayed and his cheeks tremble and quiver, and his fellow-lodger three rooms away leaps up from his sleep and, with his eyes starting out of his head, cries: 'Well, he is going it!'
'What is there funny about it?' asked Tchitchikov, somewhat disconcerted by this laughter.
But Nozdryov went on roaring with laughter as he ejaculated: 'Oh spare me, I shall split with laughing!'
'There is nothing funny in it; I promised him to go,' said Tchitchikov.
'But you know you won't enjoy yourself staying with him: he's a regular skinflint! I know your character: you are cruelly mistaken if you think you will find a game of cards and a good bottle of Bon-bon there. I say, old boy: hang Sobakevitch! Come home with me! What a sturgeon I'll set before you! Ponomarev kept bowing away, the
