Gladishev had a great deal of money in his pocket, as much as he never had before during all his brief life—all of twenty-five roubles; and he wanted to go on a splurge. Beer he drank only out of bravado, but could not bear its bitter taste, and wondered himself how others could ever drink it. And for that reason, squeamishly, like an old rake, sticking out his lower lip, he said mistrustfully:
“But then, you surely must have some awful stuff?”
“What do you mean, what do you mean, good-looking! The very best gentlemen approve of it. Of the sweet, there are Cagore, church wine, Teneriffe; while of the French there’s Lafitte. You can get port wine also. The girls just simply adore Lafitte with lemonade.”
“And what are the prices?”
“No dearer than money. As is the rule in all good establishments—a bottle of Lafitte five roubles, four bottles of lemonade at a half each, that’s two roubles, and only seven in all...”
“That’ll do you, Zociya,” Jennka stopped her indifferently, “it’s a shame to take advantage of boys. Even five is enough. You can see these are decent people, and not just anybody...”
But Gladishev turned red, and with a negligent air threw a ten rouble note on the table.
“Oh, what’s the use of talking about it. All right, bring it.”
“Whilst I’m at it, I’ll take the money for the visit as well. What about you, young people—are you on time or for the night? You know the rates yourself: on time, at two roubles; for the night, at five.”
“All right, all right. On time,” interrupted Jennka, flaring up. “Trust us in that, at least.”