“That will do, Nikolay Matveyich!” they cried to Yozhov. And all began to talk, paying no further attention to him. Foma felt so sorry for his friend that he did not even take offence. He saw that these people who defended him from Yozhov’s attacks were now purposely ignoring the feuilleton-writer, and he understood that this would pain Yozhov if he were to notice it. And in order to take his friend away from possible unpleasantness, he nudged him in the side and said, with a kind-hearted laugh: “Well, you grumbler, shall we have a drink? Or is it time to go home?” “Home? Where is the home of the man who has no place among men?” asked Yozhov, and shouted again: “Comrades!” Unanswered, his shout was drowned in the general murmur. Then he drooped his head and said to Foma: “Let’s go from here.” “Let’s go. Though I don’t mind sitting a little longer. It’s interesting. They behave so nobly, the devils. By God!” “I can’t bear it any longer. I feel cold. I am suffocating.” “Well, come then.” Foma rose to his feet, removed his cap, and, bowing to the compositors, said loudly and cheerfully: “Thank you, gentlemen, for your hospitality! Good-bye!” They immediately surrounded him and spoke to him persuasively: “Stay here! Where are you going? We might sing all together, eh?” “No, I must go, it would be disagreeable to my friend to go alone. I am going to escort him. I wish you a jolly feast!” “Eh, you ought to wait a little!” exclaimed the stout fellow, and then whispered: “Some one will escort him home!” The consumptive also remarked in a low voice: “You stay here. We’ll escort him to town, and get him into a cab and--there you are!” Foma felt like staying there, and at the same time was afraid of something. While Yozhov rose to his feet, and, clutching at the sleeves of his overcoat, muttered: “Come, the devil take them!” “Till we meet again, gentlemen! I’m going!” said Foma and departed amid exclamations of polite regret. “Ha, ha, ha!” Yozhov burst out laughing when he had got about twenty steps away from the fire. “They see us off with sorrow, but they are glad that I am going away. I hindered them from turning into beasts.” “It’s true, you did disturb them,” said Foma. “Why do you make such speeches? People have come out to enjoy themselves, and you obtrude yourself upon them. That bores them!” “Keep quiet! You don’t understand anything!” cried Yozhov, harshly. “You think I am drunk? It’s my body that is intoxicated, but my soul is sober, it is always sober; it feels everything. Oh, how much meanness there is in the world, how much stupidity and wretchedness! And men--these stupid, miserable men.” Yozhov paused, and, clasping his head with his hands, stood for awhile, staggering. “Yes!” drawled out Foma. “They are very much unlike one another. Now these men, how polite they are, like gentlemen. And they reason correctly, too, and all that sort of thing. They have common sense. Yet they are only labourers.”