"Here you are.
All your father's furniture.
Do you want all the orders?"
"What would I do with all of them? Just something to remind me of my childhood. The drawing-room suite . . . I remember how I used to play on the Khorassan carpet in the drawing-room, looking at the Shepherd Boy tapestry . . . I had a fine time, a wonderful childhood.
So let's stick to the drawing-room suite, dad."
Lovingly the old man began to open up the bundle of green counterfoils and searched for the orders in question.
He took out five of them.
One was for ten chairs, two for one chair each, one for the round table, and one for tapestry.
"lust see.
They're all in order.
You know where each item is.
All the counterfoils have the addresses on them and also the receiver's own signature.
So no one can back out if anything happens.
Perhaps you'd like Madame Popov's furniture?
It's very good and also made by Hambs."
But Ostap was motivated solely by love for his parents; he grabbed the orders, stuffed them in the depths of his pocket and declined the furniture belonging to General Popov's wife.
"May I make out a receipt?" inquired the record-keeper, adroitly arching himself.
"You may," said Ostap amiably. "Make it out, champion of an idea!"
"I will then."
"Do that!"
They went back into the first room.
Korobeinikov made out a receipt in neat handwriting and handed it smilingly to his visitor.
The chief concessionaire took the piece of paper with two fingers of his right hand in a singularly courteous manner and put it in the same pocket as the precious orders.
"Well, so long for now," he said, squinting. "I think I've given you a lot of trouble.
I won't burden you any more with my presence.
Good-bye, king of the office!"
The dumb-founded record-keeper limply took the offered hand.
"Good-bye!" repeated Ostap.
He moved towards the door.
Korobeinikov was at a loss to understand.
He even looked on the table to see if the visitor had left any money there.
Then he asked very quietly:
"What about the money?"
"What money?" said Ostap, opening the door. "Did I hear you say something about money? "
"Of course!
For the furniture; for the orders!"
"Honestly, chum," crooned Ostap, "I swear by my late father, I'd be glad to, but I haven't any; I forgot to draw any from my current account."
The old man began to tremble and put out a puny hand to restrain his nocturnal visitor.
"Don't be a fool," said Ostap menacingly. "I'm telling you in plain Russian-tomorrow means tomorrow.
So long!
Write to me!"
The door slammed.
Korobeinikov opened it and ran into the street, but Ostap had gone.
He was soon on his way past the bridge.
A locomotive passing overhead illuminated him with its lights and covered him with smoke.
"Things are moving," cried Ostap to the driver, "things are moving, gentlemen of the jury!"
The driver could not hear; he waved his hand, and the wheels of the locomotive began pulling the steel elbows of the cranks with still greater force. The locomotive raced away.
Korobeinikov stood for a few moments in the icy wind and then went back into his hovel, cursing like a trooper.
He stopped in the middle of the room and kicked the table with rage.
The clog-shaped ash-tray with the word