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And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma's ear: "Come, my dear boy, for God's sake!" "Wait, I'll give him a kick in the face," begged Foma. But he was dragged off. There was a buzzing in his ears, his heart beat fast, but he felt relieved and well. At the entrance of the club he heaved a deep sigh of relief and said to Ookhtishchev, with a good-natured smile: "I gave him a sound drubbing, didn't I?"
And she sings, with all her veins that is to say, so you might just lie down and die with sorrow! Well, that's a lady." "That was sung very well!" said Ookhtishchev in a drunken voice. "No, the devil knows what this is!" Zvantzev suddenly shouted, almost crying, irritated as he jumped up from the table. "I've come out here for a good time.
It puts a restraint on me, and it checks the freedom of my movements along the road of life. Listening to people, you hear that each says a different thing. But she could have said " "Eh, my dear boy!" Ookhtishchev interrupted Foma, gently taking his arm. "That isn't right! You have just started to live and already you are philosophizing! No, that is not right! Life is given us to live!
"How do you know that she is a coquette?" asked Foma, sternly, coming closer to the whiskered man. The man measured him with a scornful look, turned aside and moving his thigh, drawled out: "I didn't say coquette." "Martin Nikitich, you mustn't speak that way about a woman who " began Ookhtishchev in a convincing tone, but Foma interrupted him: "Excuse me, just a moment!
In the refreshment-room of the club, Foma was met by the jovial Ookhtishchev. He stood at the door, and chatted with a certain stout, whiskered man; but, noticing Gordyeeff, he came forward to meet him, saying, with a smile: "How do you do, modest millionaire!" Foma rather liked him for his jolly mood, and was always pleased to meet him.
He addressed himself to his neighbour, but the latter gave him only an intoxicated smile in return. Ookhtishchev was also drunk. Staring into the face of his companion, with his eyes grown dim, he muttered something and heard nothing. The lady with the bird-like face was pecking candy, holding the box under her very nose.
"She told me the same," put in Foma, gloomily. "She told you?" Ookhtishchev asked and became thoughtful. "Now, I'll tell you, shouldn't we perhaps go and have supper?" "Let's go," Foma assented. And he suddenly roared obdurately, clinching his fists and waving them in the air: "Well, let us go, and I'll get wound up; I'll break loose, after all this, so you can't hold me back!" "What for?
Foma smiled sheepishly and stared in confusion at the whiskered man, Ookhtishchev's interlocutor. That man was stroking his moustache with an air of importance, and deep, heavy, repulsive words fell from his lips on Foma's ears. "Because, you see, there will be one co-cot-te less in town." "Shame, Martin Nikitich!" said Ookhtishchev, reproachfully, knitting his brow.
ON the third day after the scene in the club, Foma found himself about seven versts from the town, on the timber-wharf of the merchant Zvantzev, in the company of the merchant's son of Ookhtishchev a sedate, bald-headed and red-nosed gentleman with side whiskers and four ladies.
I want to enjoy myself, and here they perform a funeral service for me! What an outrage! I can't stand this any longer. I'm going away!" "Jean, I am also going. I'm weary, too," announced the gentleman with the side whiskers. "Vassa," cried Zvantzev to his lady, "dress yourself!" "Yes, it's time to go," said the red-haired lady to Ookhtishchev. "It is cold, and it will soon be dark." "Stepan!
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