“Is the pistol loaded?”
The major, in the confusion, could not quite remember.
“There, that will do, Vulich!” exclaimed somebody. “Of course it must be loaded, if it was one of those hanging on the wall there over our heads. What a man you are for joking!”
“A silly joke, too!” struck in another.
“I wager fifty rubles to five that the pistol is not loaded!” cried a third.
A new bet was made.
I was beginning to get tired of it all.
“Listen,” I said, “either shoot yourself, or hang up the pistol in its place and let us go to bed.”
“Yes, of course!” many exclaimed. “Let us go to bed.”
“Gentlemen, I beg of you not to move,” said Vulich, putting the muzzle of the pistol to his forehead.