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Updated: May 17, 2025
Weren't they free any more? He could well wait another five minutes. Lantier came in to share in the round and they stood together at the counter. My-Boots, with his smock black with dirt and his cap flattened on his head had recently been proclaimed king of pigs and drunks after he had eaten a salad of live beetles and chewed a piece of a dead cat.
"Ah, well," murmured she, "there're three fellows who don't seem inclined for work!" "Why!" said Coupeau, "I know the tall one, it's My-Boots, a comrade of mine." Pere Colombe's l'Assommoir was now full. You had to shout to be heard. Fists often pounded on the bar, causing the glasses to clink. Everyone was standing, hands crossed over belly or held behind back.
They moved off, they even got outside, but they still heard the detonations. My-Boots, blowing on his fingers, uttered an observation aloud. "Tonnerre de Dieu! poor mother Coupeau won't feel very warm!" "Ladies and gentlemen," said the zinc-worker to the few friends who remained in the street with the family, "will you permit us to offer you some refreshments?"
You're going to work for that rascal Bourguignon?" yelled My-Boots, when the zinc-worker had spoken to him. "You'll never catch me in his hutch again! No, I'd rather go till next year with my tongue hanging out of my mouth. But, old fellow, you won't stay three days, and it's I who tell you so." "Really now, is it such a dirty hole?" asked Coupeau anxiously. "Oh, it's about the dirtiest.
My-Boots could be heard railing at Pere Colombe, calling him a scoundrel and accusing him of only half filling his glass. He didn't have to come in here. He'd never come back. He suggested to his comrades a place near the Barriere Saint-Denis where you drank good stuff straight. "Ah," sighed Gervaise when they reached the sidewalk. "You can breathe out here.
She was feeling awfully thirsty, and calling My-Boots "my child." Behind her the machine for manufacturing drunkards continued working, with its murmur of an underground stream; and she despaired of ever stopping it, of exhausting it, filled with a sullen anger against it, feeling a longing to spring upon the big still as upon some animal, to kick it with her heels and stave in its belly.
He had worked at the Elysee; he had seen Bonaparte just as he saw My-Boots in front of him over there. Well that muff of a president was just like a jackass, that was all! It was said that he was going to travel about in the direction of Lyons; it would be a precious good riddance of bad rubbish if he fell into some hole and broke his neck.
During the next ten days, he got hold of guests in the house where his sister lived in the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or Monsieur Madinier, Mademoiselle Remanjou, Madame Gaudron and her husband. He even ended by getting Gervaise to consent to the presence of two of his comrades Bibi-the-Smoker and My-Boots.
The waiters, after serving the coffee and the brandy, had removed the last piles of dirty plates. Down below, beneath the three acacias, dancing had commenced, a cornet-a-piston and two fiddles playing very loud, and mingling in the warm night air with the rather hoarse laughter of women. "We must have a punch!" cried My-Boots; "two quarts of brandy, lots of lemon, and a little sugar."
"No, that's forbidden," said he. "But when a woman knows how to handle herself " And Coupeau interrupted him to call out "Bravo!" Yes, a woman always ought to know how to handle herself, but his wife had always been a helpless thing. It would be her fault if they died on the straw. Then he relapsed into his admiration for My-Boots. How awfully fine he looked!
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