Chashke listened with delight. But a single question weighed upon her heavily; she could not repress it. She lowered her head over her work and asked, with a stifled voice, “How is your Chyenke?”
He interrupted his account and suddenly became sad once more.
“How should she be? She works.”
And again he stared vacantly through the window. She remained bent over her work, without raising her eyes. And soon they parted, with hearts as heavy as stone....
But later he became so engrossed in his work that he forgot the burden of his heart. He grew accustomed to Chyenke and became more talkative. And once he began to tell her how he used to quarrel with his employers and get the best of them. She laughed. Yes, she knew all about him and his pranks.
“I never spoke a pleasant word to any of them. Not even with the best of them,” he told her. “I always showed them my claws.”
“I’ll tell you the truth,” she asserted, with a serious mien. “If I had been your employer I wouldn’t have let you darken my door. Even if I knew that I’d make millions from you.”
He made no reply, working the treadle faster than before, and waiting for Chyenke to continue.
“It won’t be like that in our shop,” she added.
“Certainly not,” he hastened to agree. “We’ll deal differently with our employés.”