ly drank
vodka and ate nothing but bread. He rubbed his face with his open
hands, scowled, and was evidently out of humour. Both were silent.
There was a stillness. Two electric lights in opaque shades flickered
and hissed as though they were angry. The gypsy girls passed the
door, softly humming.

"One drinks and is none the merrier," said Frolov. "The more I pour
into myself, the more sober I become. Other people grow festive
with vodka, but I suffer from anger, disgusting thoughts, sleeplessness.
Why is it, old man, that people don't invent some other pleasure
besides drunkenness and debauchery? It's really horrible!"

"You had better send for the gypsy girls."

"Confound them!"

The head of an old gypsy woman appeared in the door from the passage.

"Alexey Semyonitch, the gypsies are asking for tea and brandy,"
said the old woman. "May we order it?"

"Yes," answered Frolov. "You know they get a percentage from the
restaurant keeper for asking the visitors to treat them. Nowadays
you can't even believe a man when he asks for vodka. The people are
all mean, vile, spoilt. Take these waiters, for instance. They have
countenances like professors, and grey heads; they get two hundred
roubles a month, they live in houses of their own and send their
girls to the high school, but you may swear at them and give yourself
airs as much as you please. For a rouble the engineer will gulp
down a whole pot of mustard and crow like a cock. On my honour, if
one of them would take offence I would make him a present of a
thousand roubles."

"What's the matter with you?" said Almer, looking at him with
surprise. "Whence this melancholy? You are red in the face, you
look like a wild animal. . . . What's the matter with you?"

"It's horrid. There's one thing I can't get out of my head. It seems
as though it is nailed there and it won't come out."

A round little old man, buried in fat and completely bald, wearing
a short reefer jacket and lilac waistcoat and carrying a guitar,
walked into the room. He made an idiotic face, drew himself up, and
saluted like a soldier.

"Ah, the parasite!" said Frolov, "let me introduce him, he has made
his fortune by grunting like a pig. Come here!" He poured vodka,
wine, and brandy into a glass, sprinkled pepper and salt into it,
mixed it all up and gave it to the parasite. The latter tossed it
off and smacked his lips with gusto.

"He's accustomed to drink a mess so that pure wine makes him