“Don’t dare to do such a thing!” cried Pyotr Ilyitch. “I won’t have it in my house, it’s a bad, demoralizing habit. Put your money away. Here, put it here, why waste it? It would come in handy to‐morrow, and I dare say you’ll be coming to me to borrow ten roubles again. Why do you keep putting the notes in your side‐pocket? Ah, you’ll lose them!”
“I say, my dear fellow, let’s go to Mokroe together.”
“What should I go for?”
“I say, let’s open a bottle at once, and drink to life! I want to drink, and especially to drink with you. I’ve never drunk with you, have I?”
“Very well, we can go to the ‘Metropolis.’ I was just going there.”
“I haven’t time for that. Let’s drink at the Plotnikovs’, in the back room. Shall I ask you a riddle?”
“Ask away.”
Mitya took the piece of paper out of his waistcoat pocket, unfolded it and showed it. In a large, distinct hand was written: “I punish myself for my whole life, my whole life I punish!”
“I will certainly speak to some one, I’ll go at once,” said Pyotr Ilyitch, after reading the paper.
“You won’t have time, dear boy, come and have a drink. March!”