He said: “Mine.”
He reconsidered, and said more politely: “Yes, mine.”
He felt vexed, and he thought to himself: “I’d like to send her to the devil!”
She went on talking. She asked him what he could do, where he had studied, where he had worked. She approached the subject very cautiously, as though afraid to say too much before the proper time.
He gathered that she wished to publish a journal—she had not yet decided what sort. Some sort. A small one. She was negotiating for the purchase of a property. Of the nature of the journal she said nothing.
She needed some one for the office. As he had said in his announcement that he was a pedagogue she thought that he had taught in one of the higher schools.
In any case, she wanted some one to keep the books in the office, to receive subscriptions, to carry on the editorial and the office correspondence, to receive money by post, to put the journals in wrappers, to send them to the post, to read proofs, and something else ... and still something else....
The young woman spoke for half an hour. She recounted the various duties in an unintelligent way.
“You need several people for all these tasks,” said Moshkin sharply.
The young woman grew red with vexation. She made a wry face as she remarked eagerly: “The journal will be a small one, of a special nature. If I hired several people for such a small undertaking they would have nothing to do.”