“Then you didn’t learn your manners from him,” retorted Rimsky, stopping in the court. “You swing your tongue too much for an honest man—or to have it wet with vodka. When I drink I wish to be merry.” “You are an old wolf with the fleas!” called Ilya. Rimsky laughed at him. “May you die blind!” bawled Ilya. “Oh, come and warm your belly with a sup of vodka,” said Rimsky, “unless you think that if you turned good-natured you would come down with a distemper.” Ilya ran after him and the pair walked down to the little restaurant kept by a one-eared gypsy from Bessarabia where in the old days the thieves gathered to dispose of their loot to Chinese. There were but a few people inside the place. A Buriat, who had probably sold some cattle, was lying across a table in a drunken stupor, his purple conical cap on the floor under his feet. A crippled beggar was drinking soup from a bowl with a wooden ladle, and a Chinese peddler of charms was gambling in a corner with a Mongol holy man. Rimsky led the way to a table distant from the others and called for the serving girl. He was in good humor and ordered a whole bottle of vodka, swearing that he would take only the best and would break the tax seal with his own fingers. “Something has turned your way, you old shark!” said Ilya. “Or perhaps this is your name day.” “No, it is that I am getting old and may as well spend my money before it falls into the hands of robbers,” said Rimsky. “Soon I shall go to meet the dead. I pick up a few rubles a day. What is the use of keeping them these days? I want to spend them with my friends, and you are a good fellow and a great joker, Ilya Andreitch.” “True, I can make jokes if I have the wine,” said Ilya, and hastened to take a swig from the first glass poured. They proceeded to talk of nothings, and finished the bottle. “Fetch another!” Rimsky called to the girl, “and I’ll drink a health to the rings in your ears, my damsel. When you were—what am I saying?—when I was younger you would not have escaped without a kiss.” “You had better be putting your grandchildren to bed,” retorted the girl, but she brought the bottle. Ilya was suddenly filled with a desire to be modest in his drinking. He felt it would not be wise to abuse such a show of hospitality on the part of Rimsky. And the _moujik’s_ crafty brain suspected that there was a purpose behind Rimsky’s unlimited generosity. Folks were not so free-handed without having good cause, he reasoned. So for every full glass that Rimsky drank, Ilya managed to dispose of but half a glass. He had a notion that if he could get Rimsky drunk there might be part of a bottle left which could be made away with and the joyous occasion could be carried on alone into the night and perhaps the following day. Also, he took good care that Rimsky always paid in advance by making a joke with the gypsy girl that Rimsky had no more money. Rimsky’s generosity made Ilya suspicious.