Chaillot who was known in the
establishment. They were about to drink, when My-Boots loudly called to
Goujet and Lorilleux who were passing by. They came just to the door,
but would not enter. The blacksmith did not care to take anything. The
chainmaker, pale and shivering, held in his pocket the gold chains
he was going to deliver; and he coughed and asked them to excuse him,
saying that the least drop of brandy would nearly make him split his
sides.

"There are hypocrites for you!" grunted My-Boots. "I bet they have their
drinks on the sly."

And when he had poked his nose in his glass he attacked Pere Colombe.

"Vile druggist, you've changed the bottle! You know it's no good your
trying to palm your cheap stuff off on me."

The day had advanced; a doubtful sort of light lit up l'Assommoir, where
the landlord was turning out the gas. Coupeau found excuses for his
brother-in-law who could not stand drink, which after all was no crime.
He even approved Goujet's behavior for it was a real blessing never to
be thirsty. And as he talked of going off to his work Lantier, with his
grand air of a gentleman, sharply gave him a lesson. One at least stood
one's turn before sneaking off; one should not leave one's friends like
a mean blackguard, even when going to do one's duty.

"Is he going to badger us much longer about his work?" cried My-Boots.

"So this is your turn, sir?" asked Pere Colombe of Coupeau.

The latter paid. But when it came to Bibi-the-Smoker's turn he
whispered to the landlord who refused with a shake of the head. My-Boots
understood, and again set to abusing the old Jew Colombe. What! A rascal
like him dared to behave in that way to a comrade! Everywhere else one
could get drink on tick! It was only in such low boozing-dens that one
was insulted! The landlord remained calm, leaning his big fists on the
edge of the counter. He politely said:

"Lend the gentleman some money--that will be far simpler."

"_Mon Dieu!_ Yes, I'll lend him some," yelled My-Boots. "Here! Bibi,
throw this money in his face, the limb of Satan!"

Then, excited and annoyed at seeing Coupeau with his bag slung over his
shoulder, he continued speaking to the zinc-worker:

"You look like a wet-nurse. Drop your brat. It'll give you a hump-back."

Coupeau hesitated an instant; and then, quietly, as though he had only
made up his mind after considerable reflection, he laid his bag on the
ground saying:

"It's too late now. I'll