He was a little surprised to find, that, quite unconscious of the great distance between the superintendent of the Dock Yard and a common workman, he had, without ceremony, seated himself. “Humph!” thought he; “I suppose that’s the way they do in Russia.”
“So you are from Russia, my good man?” said he, in a half-patronizing tone.
The visitor inclined his head in the affirmative.
“It’s a barbarous place, I’ve heard: the people are not half civilized; you did wisely in coming here. You must see a great difference between it and Holland?”
“Yes,” said the Russian, “we have much to learn. Other nations are greatly in advance of us in many respects; but that will pass away, and Russia will take her place at the head of them all.”
The superintendent shrugged his shoulders. He evidently did not believe it.
“So you wish employment?” he continued, after a pause. “What is your name?”
“Peter Timmerman,” was the reply.
“Very well; you may set to work to-morrow. Your wages will be a florin a day. You may report yourself at six o’clock.”
Thus terminated the interview. The Russian made a bow of acknowledgment, and left the office, leaving the superintendent more puzzled than enlightened at the insight into Russian character with which he had been favored.