“A white elephant,” the lawyer mumbled sadly, while the doctor, rubbing his hands with glee, drove home with an expression of relief.
The attorney studied his present at length and wondered what to do with it.
“It is simply delicious, but I can not keep it. It would be vandalism to throw it away, and the only thing to do is to give it away. But to whom?
“I have it now,” he fairly shouted. “The very thing, and how appropriate. I will take it to Shashkin, the comedian. The rascal is a connoisseur in such things. And this is the night of his jubilee.”
In the evening the candelabrum, carefully wrapped, was taken to Shashkin’s dressing-room by a messenger boy. The whole evening that dressing-room was besieged by a crowd of men who came to view the present. An incessant roar of delight was kept up within, sounding like the joyous neighing of many horses. Whenever an actress approached the door leading to the sanctum, and curiously knocked, Shashkin’s hoarse voice was heard in reply:
“No, my dear, you can’t come in, I am not fully dressed.”
After the performance Shashkin shrugged his shoulders and said:
“What on earth shall I do with this disreputable thing? My landlady would not tolerate it in the house. Here actresses call to see me. This is not a photograph, you can’t hide it in the drawer.”
The hair-dresser listened sympathetically while arranging the comedian’s hair.
“Why don’t you sell it?” he finally asked the actor. “A neighbor of mine, an old lady, deals in such things, and she will pay you a good price for it. An old woman by the name of Smirnoff, the whole town knows her.”