But it was impossible to quiet Savéliitch when once he had begun to sermonize.
"Do you see now, Petr' Andréjïtch," said he, "what it is to commit follies? You have a headache; you won't take anything. A man who gets drunk is good for nothing. Do take a little pickled cucumber with honey or half a glass of brandy to sober you. What do you think?"
At this moment a little boy came in, who brought me a note from Zourine. I unfolded it and read as follows:—
"DEAR PETR' ANDRÉJÏTCH,
"Oblige me by sending by bearer the hundred roubles you lost to me yesterday. I want money dreadfully.
"Your devoted
"IVÁN ZOURINE."
There was nothing for it. I assumed a look of indifference, and, addressing myself to Savéliitch, I bid him hand over a hundred roubles to the little boy.
"What—why?" he asked me in great surprise.
"I owe them to him," I answered as coldly as possible.