"Oh, take everything.
I need nothing any more . . ." burbled the sensitive widow.
"Right, then.
I know the whereabouts of your sonny boy, O.
Bender.
How much is the reward?"
"Take everything," repeated the widow.
"Twenty roubles," said Bartholomeich dryly.
The widow rose from the sacks.
She was covered with flour.
Her flour-dusted eyelashes flapped frenziedly.
"How much?" she asked.
"Fifteen roubles." Bartholomeich lowered his price.
He sensed it would be difficult making the wretched woman cough up as much as three roubles.
Trampling the sacks underfoot, the widow advanced on the old man, called upon the heavenly powers to bear witness, and with their assistance drove a hard bargain.
"Well, all right, make it five roubles.
Only I want the money in advance, please: it's a rule of mine."
Bartholomeich took two newspaper clippings from his notebook, and, without letting go of them, began reading.
"Take a look at these in order.
You wrote
'Missing from home . . . I implore, etc.' That's right, isn't it?
That's the Stargorod Truth.
And this is what they wrote about your little boy in the Moscow newspapers.
Here . . .
'Knocked down by a horse.' No, don't smile, Madame, just listen . . .
'Knocked down by a horse.' But alive.
Alive, I tell you.
Would I ask money for a corpse?
So that's it . . .
'Knocked down by a horse.
Citizen O. Bender was knocked down yesterday on Sverdlov Square by horse-cab number 8974.
The victim was unhurt except for slight shock.' So I'll give you these documents and you give me the money in advance.
It's a rule of mine."
Sobbing, the widow handed over the money.
Her husband, her dear husband in yellow boots lay on distant Moscow soil and a cab-horse, breathing flames, was kicking his blue worsted chest.
Bartholomeich's sensitive nature was satisfied with the adequate reward.
He went away, having explained to the widow that further clues to her husband's whereabouts could be found for sure at the offices of the Lathe, where, naturally, everything was known.
Letter from Father Theodore written in Rostov at the Milky Way hot-water stall to his wife in the regional centre of N.
My darling Kate,
A fresh disaster has befallen me, but I'll come to that.
I received the money in good time, for which sincere thanks.
On arrival in Rostov I went at once to the address.
New-Ros-Cement is an enormous establishment; no one there had ever heard of Engineer Bruns.
I was about to despair completely when they gave me an idea.
Try the personnel office, they said.
I did.
Yes, they told me, we did have someone of that name; he was doing responsible work, but left us last year to go to Baku to work for As-Oil as an accident-prevention specialist.
Well, my dear, my journey will not be as brief as I expected.
You write that the money is running out.
It can't be helped, Catherine.