Once more the doors were flung open and in stalked a man with as much self-assurance as if he were in his own home: he was the treasurer of the Inland Revenue Office and actuary of the Board of Payment of Employés' Salaries; he approached the chair, greeted the president like an old acquaintance and began to rummage in the papers as if they were his own.
"Who's this?" asked Falk.
"The chief clerk," answered his friend from the Red Cap.
"What? Do they write here, too, then?"
"Too? You'll soon see! They keep a story full of clerks; the attics are full of clerks and they'll soon have clerks in the cellars."
The room below was now presenting the aspect of an ant-heap. A rap of the hammer and there was silence. The head clerk read the minutes of the last meeting, and they were signed without comment. Then the same man read a petition for a fortnight's leave, sent in by Jon Jonson from Lerbak. It was granted.
"Do they have holidays here?" asked the novice, surprised.
"Certainly, Jon Jonson wants to go home and plant his potatoes."
The platform down below was now beginning to fill with young men armed with pen and paper. All of them were old acquaintances from the time when Falk was a Government official. They took their seats at little tables as if they were going to play "Preference."
"Those are the clerks," explained the Red Cap; "they appear to recognize you."