Yozhov, sitting by his side, moved about on the ground, jostled him with his shoulder and, shaking his head, muttered something indistinctly.
"Brethren!" shouted the stout fellow.

"Let's strike up the student song.
Well, one, two!" "Swift as the waves," Someone roared in his bass voice: "Are the days of our life." "Friends!" said Yozhov, rising to his feet, a glass in his hand.

He staggered, and leaned his other hand against Foma's head.

The started song was broken off, and all turned their heads toward him.
"Working men! Permit me to say a few words, words from the heart.

I am happy in your company! I feel well in your midst.