THE COUNTING-HOUSE
manor of Ananyevo'; and below stood the signature: 'To be executed exactly, Elena Losnyakov.'
'Your lady signed it herself, eh?' I queried.
'To be sure; she always signs herself. Without that the order would be of no effect.'
'Well, and now shall you send this order to the agent?'
'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 roubles, and five roubles for boots.'
'And are you satisfied?'
'Of course I am satisfied. It's not everyone 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?'
'Yes, sir. Though, to tell the truth,' he went on, with a sigh, 'a place at a merchant's, for instance, is better for the likes of us. At a merchant's they're very well off. Yesterday evening
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