'There, I said you'd begin,' cried the Gabbler; 'didn't I say so?' 'There, there, don't cluck,' remarked the Wild Master contemptuously. 'Begin,' he went on, with a nod to the booth-keeper. 'What song am I to sing?' asked the booth-keeper, beginning to be nervous. 'What you choose,' answered the Blinkard; 'sing what you think best.' 'What you choose, to be sure,' Nikolai Ivanitch chimed in, slowly smoothing his hand on his breast, 'you're quite at liberty about that. Sing what you like; only sing well; and we'll give a fair decision afterwards.' 'A fair decision, of course,' put in the Gabbler, licking the edge of his empty glass. 'Let me clear my throat a bit, mates,' said the booth-keeper, fingering the collar of his coat. 'Come, come, no nonsense--begin!' protested the Wild Master, and he looked down. The booth-keeper thought a minute, shook his head, and stepped forward. Yakov's eyes were riveted upon him. But before I enter upon a description of the contest itself, I think it will not be amiss to say a few words about each of the personages taking part in my story. The lives of some of them were known to me already when I met them in the Welcome Resort; I collected some facts about the others later on. Let us begin with the Gabbler. This man's real name was Evgraf Ivanovitch; but no one in the whole neighbourhood knew him as anything but the Gabbler, and he himself referred to himself by that nickname; so well did it fit him. Indeed, nothing could have been more appropriate to his insignificant, ever-restless features. He was a dissipated, unmarried house-serf, whose own masters had long ago got rid of him, and who, without any employment, without earning a halfpenny, found means to get drunk every day at other people's expense. He had a great number of acquaintances who treated him to drinks of spirits and tea, though they could not have said why they did so themselves; for, far from being entertaining in company, he bored every one with his meaningless chatter, his insufferable familiarity, his spasmodic gestures and incessant, unnatural laugh. He could neither sing nor dance; he had never said a clever, or even a sensible thing in his life; he chattered away, telling lies about everything--a regular Gabbler! And yet not a single drinking party for thirty miles around took place without his lank figure turning up among the guests; so that they were used to him by now, and put up with his presence as a necessary evil. They all, it is true, treated him with contempt; but the Wild Master was the only one who knew how to keep his foolish sallies in check.