“No, sir. He’ll come himself and read it. That’s to say, it’ll be read to him; you see, he’s no scholar.” The clerk on duty was silent again for a while. “But what do you say?” he added, simpering; “is it well written?”
“Very well written.”
“It wasn’t composed, I must confess, by me. Konstantin is the great one for that.”
“What?—Do you mean the orders have first to be composed among you?”
“Why, how else could we do? Couldn’t write them off straight without making a fair copy.”
“And what salary do you get?” I inquired.
“Thirty-five rubles, and five rubles for boots.”
“And are you satisfied?”
“Of course I am satisfied. It’s not every one can get into an office like ours. It was God’s will, in my case, to be sure; I’d an uncle who was in service as a butler.”
“And you’re well off?”