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Updated: June 17, 2025
Meanwhile, My-Boots, who had been looking at his hand, triumphantly banged his fist down on the table. He scored ninety-three. "I've got the Revolution!" he exulted. "You're out of luck, comrade," the others told Coupeau. They ordered two fresh bottles. The glasses were filled up again as fast as they were emptied, the booze increased.
Her regret was at not being able to start in business at once; she would have earned all the home required, without counting on Coupeau, letting him take months to get into the way of work again; she would no longer have been uneasy, but certain of the future and free from the secret fears which sometimes seized her when he returned home very gay and singing, and relating some joke of that animal My-Boots, whom he had treated to a drink.
Waiter, two quarts of your aged stuff!" So Coupeau said very well, only they would settle for the dinner at once. It would prevent any disputes. The well-behaved people did not want to pay for the drunkards; and it just happened that My-Boots, after searching in his pockets for a long time, could only produce three francs and seven sous.
Then the men rose to get their pipes. They stood for a moment behind My-Boots, patting him on the back, and asking him if he was feeling better. Bibi-the-Smoker lifted him up in his chair; but tonnerre de Dieu! the animal had doubled in weight. Coupeau joked that My-Boots was only getting started, that now he was going to settle down and really eat for the rest of the night.
Well, eat your fist, and keep the other for to-morrow." He considered it highly improper to do the dramatic in other people's presence. What, he hadn't worked, and yet the bakers kneaded bread all the same. Did she take him for a fool, to come and try to frighten him with her stories? "Do you want me to turn thief?" she muttered, in a dull voice. My-Boots stroked his chin in conciliatory fashion.
My-Boots is most likely in there." And as they reached the bottom of the street they indeed caught sight of My-Boots inside Pere Colombe's. In spite of the early hour l'Assommoir was flaring, the shutters down, the gas lighted. Lantier stood at the door, telling Coupeau to make haste, because they had only ten minutes left. "What!
That comical chap, My-Boots, had been cunning enough at the end of last summer to espouse in authentic fashion a lady who, although rather advanced in years, had still preserved considerable traces of beauty. She was a lady-of-the-evening of the Rue des Martyrs, none of your common street hussies.
It was impossible to have a proper dinner party without My-Boots, the bottomless pit. The other men eyed him with a brooding jealousy as they puffed on their pipes. Indeed, to be able to eat so much, you had to be very solidly built! "I wouldn't care to be obliged to support you," said Madame Gaudron. "Ah, no; you may take my word for that!"
Madame Boche would take Claude and Etienne with her for the bridal night. The children were sound asleep on chairs, stuffed full from the dinner. Just as the bridal couple and Lorilleux were about to go out the door, a quarrel broke out near the dance floor between their group and another group. Boche and My-Boots were kissing a lady and wouldn't give her up to her escorts, two soldiers.
"Say there, old Borgia," he called to Pere Colombe, "give us some of your yellow stuff, first class mule's wine." And when Pere Colombe, pale and quiet in his blue-knitted waistcoat, had filled the four glasses, these gentlemen tossed them off, so as not to let the liquor get flat. "That does some good when it goes down," murmured Bibi-the-Smoker. The comic My-Boots had a story to tell.
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