"'Oh! They write, of course, a little....'"
"He was speaking familiarly, so that I thought it time to interrupt him. After wandering through the copyists', the notaries', the clerk's, the controller's and his secretary's, the reviser's and his secretary's, the public prosecutor's, the registrar of the exchequer's, the master of the rolls' and the librarian's, the treasurer's, the cashier's, the procurator's, the protonotary's, the keeper of the minutes', the actuary's, the keeper of the records', the secretary's, the first clerk's, and the head of the department's rooms, we came to a door which bore in gilt letters the words: 'The President.' I was going to open the door but the messenger stopped me; genuinely uneasy, he seized my arm and whispered: 'Shsh!'—'Is he asleep?' I asked, my thoughts busy with an old rumour. 'For God's sake, be quiet! No one may enter here unless the president rings the bell.' 'Does he often ring?' 'No, I've never heard him ringing in my time, and I've been here twelve months.' He was again inclined to be familiar, so I said no more.
"About noon the adjuncts began to arrive, and to my amazement I found in them nothing but old friends from the Committee on Brandy Distilleries, and the Board of Administration of Employés' Pensions. My amazement grew when the registrar from the Inland Revenue Office strolled into the actuary's room, and made himself as comfortable in his easy-chair as he used to do in the Inland Revenue Office.
"I took one of the young men aside and asked him whether it would not be advisable for me to call on the president. 'Shsh!' was his mysterious reply, while he took me into room No. 8. Again this mysterious shsh!
"The room which we had just entered was quite as dark as the rest of them, but it was much dirtier. The horsehair stuffing was bursting through the leather covering of the furniture; thick dust lay on the writing-table; by the side of an inkstand, in which the ink had dried long ago, lay an unused stick of sealing-wax with the former owner's name marked on it in Anglo-Saxon letters; in addition there was a pair of paper shears whose blades were held together by rust; a date rack which had not been turned since midsummer five years ago; a State directory five years old; a sheet of blotting-paper with Julius Cæsar, Julius Cæsar, Julius Cæsar written all over it, a hundred times at least, alternating with as many Father Noahs.
"'This is the office of the Master of the Rolls; we shall be undisturbed here,' said my friend.
"'Doesn't the Master of the Rolls come here, then?' I asked.
"'He hasn't been here these five years, and now he's ashamed to turn up.'
"'But who does his work?'
"'The librarian.'