At last the mayor broke the silence.
"Pan Zolzik," said he, with a Mazovian accent, "write that rapurt; it is somehow awkward for me. Besides, you are the writer [secretary]."
But Pan Zolzik was in bad humor, and whenever he was in bad humor the mayor had to do everything himself.
"Well, what if I am the secretary?" replied he, with contempt. "The secretary is here for the purpose of writing to the chief and the commissioner; but to such a mayor as you are, write yourself." Then he added with majestic contempt, "But what is a mayor to me? What? A peasant, and that is the end of it! Do what you like with a peasant, he will always be a peasant!"
Then he arranged his hair, and looked again in the glass.
The mayor felt touched, and answered,—
"But see here! Haven't I drunk tea with the marshal?"
"A great deal I care about your tea!" said Zolzik, carelessly. "And besides without arrack, I suppose?"
"That is not true! for it was with arrack."
"Well, let it be with arrack; but still I will not write the report!"