Right here on the grass! What do you think, doctor? You know best—you’re a medical man. Shouldn’t we fortify ourselves?”

Nekrichikhvostov’s suggestion was accepted. Avvakum and Firs spread out two rugs, and round these were arranged the bottles and sacks full of food. Yegor Yegorich sliced the sausages, cheese, and sturgeon, while Nekrichikhvostov opened the bottles and Mange cut the bread. The hunters licked their lips and lay down on the rugs.

“Come, come, Your Excellency … Let us each have a little …”

The hunters ate and drank. The doctor immediately poured himself another drink and drank it down. Vanya followed his example.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there were wolves here,” Kardamonov announced after a period of deep meditation, throwing a sidelong glance at the forest.

The hunters pondered, discussed the matter at length, and at the end of ten minutes came to the conclusion that one might be quite safe in saying there were no wolves.

“Well, now, shall we have another? Drink up, eh? Yegor Yegorich, what are you staring at?”

They drank another round.

“What are you thinking about, young fellow?” Yegor Yegorich turned to Vanya.

Vanya shook his head.

“When I’m here,” said the general, “you can drink, but when I’m not here … So let’s have a little nip!”

Vanya filled his wineglass and drank it down.

“What about a third round, Your Excellency?”

They drank a third round. The doctor drank his sixth.

“Young fellow!”

Vanya shook his head.

“Drink, Amphiteatrov!” said Mange, patronizingly.

“When I’m here you can drink, but when I am not here …”

Vanya drank another glass.

“Why is the sky so blue today?” asked Kardamonov.

The hunters pondered the problem, discussed it, and at the end of a quarter of an hour they came to the conclusion that no one really knew why the sky was so blue.

“A rabbit! A rabbit!… Steady there!”

A rabbit appeared on the other side of the mound. The rabbit was being pursued by two mongrels. The hunters jumped to their feet and grabbed their guns, while the rabbit ran past them and vanished into the forest with Music Maker, the two mongrels, and still other dogs hot on its trail. Idler pondered for a moment, threw a suspicious glance at the general, and then hurried after the rabbit.

“It’s a big one! We ought to have brought him down, eh? How did he get away?”

“True! But there’s a bottle here, and what’s to be done with it?

You didn’t finish your drink, Your Excellency? Well, well, that’s fine!”

So they drank a fourth round. The doctor drank his ninth, quacked loudly, and then he too vanished into the forest. He found a dark shady spot, lay down on the grass, put his coat under his head, and proceeded to make snoring noises. Vanya was fuddled. He drank another glass of wine, and then became wildly excited. He fell on his knees and declaimed twenty verses of Ovid.

The general observed that Latin shared many remarkable similarities with French. Yegor Yegorich agreed, and observed that anyone who wanted to learn French should absolutely know Latin, which was a very similar language. Mange did not agree with Yegor Yegorich. He emphasized that this was not the proper occasion for discourses on languages, since there was a physics and mathematics teacher present, and a goodly number of bottles; and he added that his own gun had cost a fortune when he bought it some time ago, and now you couldn’t buy a gun like that for love or money.…

“An eighth round, gentlemen?”

“Wouldn’t that be a bit too much?”

“Get on with you! Eight too much? It’s clear to me you’ve never done any drinking!”

They drank their eighth round.

“Young fellow!”

Vanya shook his head.

“Drink it down, boy, like a soldier! I see you shoot well.…”

“Drink up, Amphiteatrov!” said Mange.

“It’s all right when I’m here, but when I’m not here … Well, let’s have a little drink.…”

Vanya put his beer aside and drank another shot of vodka.

“A ninth round, gentlemen? What did you say? I hate the number eight. My father died on the eighth day.… I mean Ivan … Fyodor … Yegor Yegorich! Fill the glasses!”

So they drank a ninth round.

“You might say it is a hot day.…”

“So it is, but it’s not going to prevent us from drinking a tenth round, is it?”

“But …”

“I spit on the heat! Gentlemen, let us show the elements we are not afraid of them. Young fellow! Make us ashamed of ourselves. Put your old uncle to shame! We’re not afraid of the heat or the cold!”

Vanya drank down a glass of wine. The hunters shouted “Hurrah!” and followed his example.

“This way we might get sunstroke,” the general observed.

“Quite impossible!”

“Impossible! In our climate? Hm …”

“Still, cases have been known. My godfather, for example, died of sunstroke.…”

“Well, doctor, what do you think? Can a man get sunstroke, eh, in our climate? Eh, doctor?”

There was no response.

“You haven’t had to treat any cases, eh? We’re discussing sunstroke. Doctor! Where’s the doctor?”

“Where the devil is the doctor?”

The hunters looked all round: the doctor had gone.

“Where’s the doctor? Faded away? Like wax in the presence of flame! Ha-ha-ha!”

“He’s gone to see Yegor’s wife,” Mikhey Yegorich said maliciously.

Yegor Yegorich turned pale and let the bottle fall to the ground.

“Yes, gone to see his wife,” Mikhey Yegorich went on, nibbling on some sturgeon.

“Why do you have to tell lies?” Mange asked. “Did you see him go?”

“Of course I saw him! A peasant went by in a cart, and he jumped on and drove away. I swear to God! Shall we have an eleventh round now, gentlemen?”

Yegor Yegorich jumped up and shook his fists.

“That’s right,” Mikhey Yegorich went on. “I asked him where he was going. ‘I’m going after strawberries,’ he said, ‘and to sweeten the horns of a cuckold. I planted ’em, and now I’m going to sweeten ’em.’ And then he said: Good-by, Mikhey Yegorich, dear boy.