“Write on, write on, my lad,” he whispered, as if he thought that a spirit sat between him and the paper and must not be frightened away, and he softly and silently sat down on the floor. When Daddy Eróshka was drunk his favourite position was on the floor. Olénin looked round, ordered some wine to be brought, and continued to write. Eróshka found it dull to drink by himself and he wished to talk. “I’ve been to the betrothal at the cornet’s. But there! They’re shwine!—Don’t want them!—Have come to you.” “And where did you get your _balaláyka?_” asked Olénin, still writing. “I’ve been beyond the river and got it there, brother mine,” he answered, also very quietly. “I’m a master at it. Tartar or Cossack, squire or soldiers’ songs, any kind you please.” Olénin looked at him again, smiled, and went on writing. That smile emboldened the old man. “Come, leave off, my lad, leave off!” he said with sudden firmness. “Well, perhaps I will.” “Come, people have injured you but leave them alone, spit at them! Come, what’s the use of writing and writing, what’s the good?” And he tried to mimic Olénin by tapping the floor with his thick fingers, and then twisted his big face to express contempt. “What’s the good of writing quibbles. Better have a spree and show you’re a man!” No other conception of writing found place in his head except that of legal chicanery. Olénin burst out laughing and so did Eróshka. Then, jumping up from the floor, the latter began to show off his skill on the _balaláyka_ and to sing Tartar songs. “Why write, my good fellow! You’d better listen to what I’ll sing to you. When you’re dead you won’t hear any more songs. Make merry now!” First he sang a song of his own composing accompanied by a dance: “Ah, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dim, Say where did they last see him? In a booth, at the fair, He was selling pins, there.” Then he sang a song he had learnt from his former sergeant-major: “Deep I fell in love on Monday, Tuesday nothing did but sigh, Wednesday I popped the question, Thursday waited her reply. Friday, late, it came at last, Then all hope for me was past! Saturday my life to take I determined like a man, But for my salvation’s sake Sunday morning changed my plan!” Then he sang again: “Oh dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dim, Say where did they last see him?” And after that, winking, twitching his shoulders, and footing it to the tune, he sang: “I will kiss you and embrace, Ribbons red twine round you; And I’ll call you little Grace. Oh, you little Grace now do Tell me, do you love me true?” And he became so excited that with a sudden dashing movement he started dancing around the room accompanying himself the while.