the service, and such a thing has never happened to me before. When we were ordered to get ready for the march, I got up as usual,—there was nothing the matter; but suddenly it caught me in the park—it caught me and threw me down on the ground, and that was all—And I myself do not know how I fell asleep, brothers! It must be the sleeping disease," he concluded.
"Yes, I had a hard time waking you," said Antónov, pulling on his boot. "I kept pushing and pushing you, as though you were a log!"
"I say," remarked Velenchvúk, "just as though I were drunk—"
"There was a woman at home," began Chíkin, "who had not left the oven bed for at least two years. They began to wake her once, thinking that she was asleep, but they found she was dead,—though her death resembled sleep. Yes, my dear man!"
"Just tell us, Chíkin, how you put on style when you had your leave of absence," said Maksímov, smiling and looking at me, as though to say, "Would you not like to hear the story of a foolish man?"
"What style, Maksímych?" said Chíkin, casting a cursory side glance at me. "I just told them all about the Caucasus."
"Of course, of course! Don't be so shy—tell us how you led them on."
"It is very simple: they asked me how we were living," Chíkin began, speaking hurriedly, having the appearance of a man who has told the same story several times. "I said: 'We live well, dear man: we get our provisions in full,—in the morning and evening of chocolate a cup to each soldier is brought up; and for dinner we get soup, not of oats, but of noble barley groats, and instead of brandy we get a cup of Modeira, Modeira Divirioo which, without the bottle, is at forty-two!'"
