But the editor was rather bald, hard-worked, and enslaved by his family and apartment, liked to have a rest after dinner on the settee, and read Pravda before going to sleep.
He thought for a moment and then declined.
Avdotyev approached each desk in turn and repeated his fiery speech.
His words had a dubious effect on the old men, which meant for him anyone above the age of twenty.
They snapped at him, excusing themselves by saying they were already friends of children and regularly paid twenty kopeks a year for the benefit of the poor mites.
They would like to join, but. . .
"But what?" cried Avdotyev. "Supposing we had a car today?
Yes, supposing we put down a blue six-cylinder Packard in front of you for fifteen kopeks a year, with petrol and oil paid for by the government?"
"Go away," said the old men. "It's the last call, you're preventing us from working."
The car idea was fading and beginning to give off fumes when a champion of the new enterprise was finally found.
Persidsky jumped back from the telephone with a crash and, having listened to Avdotyev, said:
"You're tackling it the wrong way. Give me the sheet.
Let's begin at the beginning."
Accompanied by Avdotyev, Persidsky began a new round.
"You, you old mattress," he said to a blue-eyed boy, "you don't even have to give any money.
You have bonds from '27, don't you?
For how much?
For five hundred?
All the better.
You hand over the bonds to the club.
The capital comes from the bonds.
By August we will have cashed all the bonds and bought the car."
"What happens if my bond wins a prize?" asked the boy defiantly.
"How much do you expect to win?"
"Fifty thousand."
"We'll buy cars with the money.
And the same thing if I win.
And the same if Avdotyev wins.
In other words, no matter whose bonds win, the money will be spent on cars.
Do you understand now?
You crank!
You'll drive along the Georgian Military Highway in your own car.
Mountains, you idiot!
And Life-and-the-Law, social events, accidents, and the young lady -you know, the one who does the films-will all go zooming along behind you in their own cars as well.
Well?
Well?
You'll be courting!"
In the depths of his heart no bond-holder believes in the possibility of a win.
At the same time he is jealous of his neighbours' and friends' bonds.
He is dead scared that they will win and that he, the eternal loser, will be left out in the cold.
Hence the hope of a win on the part of an office colleague drew the bond-holders into the new club.
The only disturbing thought was that none of their bonds would win.
That seemed rather unlikely, though, and, furthermore, the Automobile Club had nothing to lose, since one car from the graveyard was guaranteed by the capital earned from the bonds.
In five minutes twenty people had been recruited.
As soon as it was all over, the editor arrived, having heard about the club's alluring prospects.
"Well, fellows," he said, "why shouldn't I put my name down on the list?"
"Why not, old man," replied Avdotyev, "only not on our list.
We have a full complement and no new members are being admitted for the next five years.
You'd do better to enrol yourself as a friend of children.
It's cheap and sure.