A young lady sat next to him and told him dirty stories.
His eyes sparkled.
Svejk drank.
The lanky one finished his dance and returned with his partner to the table.
Then they sang, danced, drank without interruption and spanked their lady companions.
And in the atmosphere of venal love, nicotine and alcohol there was ever present, if barely perceptible, the old slogan:
'A pres 110us le deluge!'
In the afternoon a soldier came up to them and offered them a boil with blood poisoning for five guilders.
He had with him a hypodermic syringe and could inject paraffin into their legs or anus.
1 With this they would be in bed for at least two months and if they fed the wound with saliva they could perhaps spin it out to half a year and be completely discharged from the army.
The lanky one, who had completely lost his mental balance, had himself injected intravenously in the leg with paraffin. The soldier did it for him in the W.C.
As it was already getting towards evening Svejk proposed that they resume their journey to the chaplain.
The small tubby one, who was already beginning to wander, tried to persuade Svejk to stay a little longer.
The lanky one was also of the opinion that the chaplain could wait.
But Svejk was not enjoying it any more at Kuklik and threatened to go on alone.
And so they left, but he had to promise them that they would all stop somewhere again.
They stopped at a small cafe at Florence, where the tubby one pawned his silver watch so that they could go on having fun.
When they left, Svejk was already leading them by the arm.
It gave him an awful lot of trouble.
Their feet kept on slipping, and they were all the time wanting to go somewhere.
The small tubby one almost lost the bundle for the chaplain, and so Svejk was forced to carry it himself.
Svejk had continually to alert them when an officer or an N.C.O. came by.
After superhuman efforts and struggles he managed to bring them to the house in Kr:ilovska Avenue where the chaplain lived.
He fixed the bayonets on their rifles himself and by poking them in the ribs forced them to lead him instead of his leading them.
On the first floor, where there was a visiting card on the door:
'Otto Katz, Chaplain', a soldier came to open.
From the drawingroom could be heard voices and the clinking of bottles and glasses.
'Hum - bly - report - sir,' said the lanky one with an effort in broken German and saluting the soldier: 'One - bundle - and one man delivered.'
'Come in,' said the soldier.
'However did you manage to get into that state?
The chaplain's the same way ... ' The soldier spat.
The soldier went off with the bundle.
They waited in the hall for a long time until the door opened and through it there flew rather than walked the chaplain himself.
He was in his waistcoat and held a cigar in his hand.'
So you're here already,' he said to Svejk, 'and these people brought you.
Hey, have you got any matches?'
'Humbly report, sir, I haven't.'
'Hey, and why haven't you got any?
Every soldier should have matches so that he can light up.
A soldier who hasn't got any matches is ... what is he?'
'Humbly report, sir, he's without matches,' answered Svejk.
'Very good. He's without matches and can't give anyone a light.
Well, that's one essential point and now here's another.
Do your feet stink, Svejk?'
'Humbly report, sir, they don't.' II
'Well, that was the second point.
And now for the third.
Do you drink spirits?'
'Humbly report, sir, I don't drink spirits, only rum.'
'Good.