'Do you think so?' said Shubin gloomily. 'I have none of them, and if
they come upon me, the fault is all one person's. Do you know,' he
added, tragically knitting his brows, 'that I have been trying
drinking?'

'Nonsense?'

'Yes, I have, by God,' rejoined Shubin; and suddenly grinning and
brightening,--'but I didn't like it, my dear boy, the stuff sticks in
my throat, and my head afterwards is a perfect drum. The great
Lushtchihin himself--Harlampy Lushtchihin--the greatest drunkard in
Moscow, and a Great Russian drunkard too, declared there was nothing
to be made of me. In his words, the bottle does not speak to me.'

Bersenyev was just going to knock the group over but Shubin stopped
him.

'That'll do, my dear boy, don't smash it; it will serve as a lesson,
a scare-crow.'

Bersenyev laughed.

'If that's what it is, I will spare your scarecrow then,' he said. And
now, 'Long live eternal true art!'

'Long live true art!' put in Shubin. 'By art the good is better and
the bad is not all loss!'

The friends shook hands warmly and parted.