“No, Stepka, you must pay, because you owe me money.”
“I won’t tire my tongue talking to you any longer,” replied Stepka.
“No, Stepka, you lie,” continues his friend, taking up a glass offered to him by the drink-seller. “You owe me money, and you must be without conscience. You have not a thing about you that you have not borrowed, and I don’t believe your very eyes are your own. In a word, Stepka, you are a blackguard.”
“What are you whining about? Look, you are spilling your vodka.”
“If you are being treated, why don’t you drink?” cries the drink-seller, to the expansive friend. “I cannot wait here until to-morrow.”
“I will drink, don’t be frightened. What are you crying out about? My best wishes for the day. My best wishes for the day, Stepan Doroveitch,” replies the latter polite
