The young man reflected.
“There are six of us.”
“Who are they?” I inquired.
“Well, first there’s Vassily Nikolaevitch, the head cashier; then Piotr, one clerk; Piotr’s brother, Iván, another clerk; the other Iván, a clerk; Konstantin Narkizer, another clerk; and me here—there’s a lot of us, you can’t count all of them.”
“I suppose your mistress has a great many serfs in her house?”
“No, not to say a great many.”
“How many, then?”
“I dare say it runs up to about a hundred and fifty.”
We were both silent for a little.
“I suppose you write a good hand, eh?” I began again.