Chelkash looked at him, and said with a derisive smile: "Why, you're drunk already! What a milksop! And only the fifth glass too! How will you manage to work?" "My friend," lisped Gabriel, "never fear, I respect you--there you are Let me kiss you. Ah!" "Well, well--come, chink glasses once more." Gabriel went on drinking, and arrived at last at that stage when to his eyes everything began to vibrate with a regular spontaneous motion of its own. This was very disagreeable, and made him feel unwell. His face assumed a foolishly-ecstatic expression. He tried to say something, but only made a ridiculous noise with his lips and bellowed. Chelkash continued to gaze fixedly at him as if he was trying to recollect something, and twirled his moustaches, smiling all the time, but now his smile was grim and evil. The eating-house was a babel of drunken voices. The red-haired sailor had gone to sleep with his elbows resting on the table. "Come now, let us go," said Chelkash, standing up. Gabriel tried to rise, but could not, and cursing, loudly, began to laugh the senseless laugh of the drunkard. "He'll have to be carried," said Chelkash, sitting down again on the chair opposite his comrade. Gabriel kept on laughing, and looked at his host with lack-lustre eyes. And the latter regarded him fixedly, keenly, and meditatively. He saw before him a man whose life had fallen into his vulpine paws. Chelkash felt that he could twist him round his little finger. He could break him in pieces like a bit of cardboard, or he could make a substantial peasant of him as solid as a picture in its frame. Feeling himself the other man's master, he hugged himself with delight, and reflected that this rustic had never emptied so many glasses as Fate had permitted him, Chelkash, to do. And he had a sort of indignant pity for this young life; he despised and even felt anxious about it, lest it should fall at some other time into such hands as his. And finally, all Chelkash's feelings blended together into one single sentiment--into something paternal and hospitable. He was sorry for the youth, and the youth was necessary to him. Then Chelkash took Gabriel under the armpits, and urging him lightly forward from behind with his knee, led him out of the door of the tavern, where he placed him on the ground in the shadow of a pile of wood, and himself sat down beside him and smoked his pipe. Gabriel rolled about for a bit, bellowed drunkenly, and dozed off. II. "Well now, are you ready?" inquired Chelkash in a low voice of Gabriel, who was fumbling about with the oars. "Wait a moment. The row-locks are all waggly. Can I ship oars for a bit?" "No, no! Don't make a noise! Press down more firmly with your hands, and they'll fall into place of their own accord."