His youngest colleague, a short, stout Karaim, very black and lively, said in a whisper so that every one could hear: ‘On the order of the day, the best thing would be iced kvass....’
The chairman gave him a stern side-glance, but could not restrain a smile. He sighed and put both his hands on the table to raise himself and declare the meeting closed, when the doorkeeper, who stood at the entrance to the theatre, suddenly moved forward and said: ‘There are seven people outside, sir. They want to come in.’
The chairman looked impatiently round the company.
‘What is to be done, gentlemen?’
Voices were heard.
‘Next time. Basta!’
‘Let ’em put it in writing.’
‘If they’ll get it over quickly.... Decide it at once.’
‘Let ’em go to the devil. Phew! It’s like boiling pitch.’
‘Let them in.’ The chairman gave a sign with his head, annoyed. ‘Then bring me a Vichy, please. But it must be cold.’