“I don’t care if I am. I may itch, but I am rich; I’ve money.”

“You sold Christ.”

“I don’t care if I did.”

“That’s right, Isay Fomitch, bravo! Don’t touch him, he’s the only one we’ve got,” the convicts would shout, laughing.

“Aie, Jew, you’ll get the whip, you’ll be sent to Siberia.”

“Why, I am in Siberia now.”

“Well, you’ll go further.”

“And is the Lord God there, too?”

“Well, I suppose he is.”

“Well, I don’t mind then. If the Lord God is there and there’s money, I shall be all right everywhere.”