publisher on a contract. There
will be some drinking on this account, and I am invited. It was I who
advised them to do it. Let us go? You will give them a good treat."

"Very well!" said Foma, to whom it was immaterial with whom he passed
the time, which was a burden to him.

In the evening of that day Foma and Yozhov sat in the company of
rough-faced people, on the outskirts of a grove, outside the town.
There were twelve compositors there, neatly dressed; they treated Yozhov
simply, as a comrade, and this somewhat surprised and embarrassed Foma,
in whose eyes Yozhov was after all something of a master or superior
to them, while they were really only his servants. They did not seem to
notice Gordyeeff, although, when Yozhov introduced Foma to them, they
shook hands with him and said that they were glad to see him. He
lay down under a hazel-bush, and watched them all, feeling himself a
stranger in this company, and noticing that even Yozhov seemed to have
got away from him deliberately, and was paying but little attention
to him. He perceived something strange about Yozhov; the little
feuilleton-writer seemed to imitate the tone and the speech of the
compositors. He bustled about with them at the woodpile, uncorked
bottles of beer, cursed, laughed loudly and tried his best to resemble
them. He was even dressed more simply than usual.

"Eh, brethren!" he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. "I feel well with you!
I'm not a big bird, either. I am only the son of the courthouse guard,
and noncommissioned officer, Matvey Yozhov!"

"Why does he say that?" thought Foma. "What difference does it make
whose son a man is? A man is not respected on account of his father, but
for his brains."

The sun was setting like a huge bonfire in the sky, tinting the clouds
with hues of gold and of blood. Dampness and silence were breathed from
the forest, while at its outskirts dark human figures bustled about
noisily. One of them, short and lean, in a broad-brimmed straw hat,
played the accordion; another one, with dark moustache and with his cap
on the back of his head, sang an accompaniment softly. Two others tugged
at a stick, testing their strength. Several busied themselves with the
basket containing beer and provisions; a tall man with a grayish beard
threw branches on the fire, which was enveloped in thick, whitish
smoke. The damp branches, falling on the fire, crackled and rustled
plaintively, and the accordion teasingly played a liv