"Why?" Yevsey answered in embarrassment: "I'm afraid." "Ugh! Come with me. All right? We can get it for nothing. We need only twenty-five kopeks for beer. If we say we are from the Department of Police, they'll let us in, and give us girls for nothing. They are afraid of police officers. Everybody is afraid of us." In a still lower voice, but with more fire and appetite he continued. "And what girls there _are_! Stout, warm, like down feather-beds! They're the best, by golly! Some fondle you like your own mother, stroke your head, and so you fall asleep. It's good!" "Have you a mother?" "Yes, only I live with my aunt. My mother is a sow. She's a lewd woman, and lives with a butcher for her support. I don't go to her. The butcher won't let me. Once I went there, and he kicked me on the back. Ugh!" Zarubin's little mouse ears quivered, his narrow eyes rolled queerly, he tugged at the black down on his upper lip with a convulsive movement of his fingers, and throbbed all over with excitement. "Why are you such a quiet fellow? You ought to be bolder, or else they'll crush you with work. I was afraid at first, too, so they rode all over me. Come, let's be friends for the rest of our lives!" Though Yevsey did not like Zarubin and was intimidated by his extreme agility, he replied: "All right. Let's be friends." "Your hand. There, it's done! So to-morrow we'll go to the girls?" "No, I won't go." They did not notice the Smokestack coming up to them. "Well, Yakov, who will do whom?" he growled. "We're not fighting," said Zarubin, sullenly and disrespectfully. "You lie," said the Smokestack. "Say, Klimkov, don't give in to him, do you hear?" "I do," said Yevsey rising before him. A feeling of reverent curiosity drew him to the man. Once, as usual unexpectedly to himself, he took courage to speak to the Smokestack. "Kapiton Ivanovich." "What is it?" "I want to ask you, if you please--" Without looking at him, the Smokestack said: "Get up some spunk! Get up some spunk!" "Why do people live so badly?" Yevsey brought out with a great effort. The old man raised his heavy brows. "What business is it of yours?" he rejoined, looking into Klimkov's face. Yevsey was staggered. The old man's question was like a blow on the chest. It stood before him in all the power of its inexplicable simplicity. "Aha!" said the old man quietly. Then he drew his brows together, whipped a black book from his pocket, and tapping it with his finger said, "The New Testament. Have you read it?" "Yes." "Did you understand it?" "No," answered Yevsey timidly. "Read it again. Well, anyway--" Moving his mustache the old man hid the book in his pocket. "I've been reading this book for three years, yes, three years. Nobody understands it. It's a book for children, for the pure of heart. No one can understand it."