the sofa, “I see you’re not well-disposed to me, that’s why I’m gloomy. I’m ready, panie ,” added he, addressing Mitya.
“Begin, panie ,” Mitya assented, pulling his notes out of his pocket, and laying two hundred-rouble notes on the table. “I want to lose a lot to you. Take your cards. Make the bank.”
“We’ll have cards from the landlord, panie ,” said the little Pole, gravely and emphatically.
“That’s much the best way,” chimed in Pan Vrublevsky.
“From the landlord? Very good, I understand, let’s get them from him. Cards!” Mitya shouted to the landlord.
The landlord brought in a new, unopened pack, and informed Mitya that the girls were getting ready, and that the Jews with the cymbals would most likely be here soon; but the cart with the provisions had not yet arrived. Mitya jumped up from