The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [11]
‘It is nearly nine,’ said Ignacy, with particular emphasis.
‘Is that all? Who’d have thought it? And I’d decided to come first today, even earlier than Mr Klein …’
‘So as to get away before eight, I daresay,’ Lisiecki put in.
Mraczewski fastened upon him his blue eyes, in which the utmost astonishment appeared.
‘How did you know?’ he asked. ‘Well, upon my word, this fellow must be a prophet. It so happens that today, on my word of honour … I have to be in town before seven, even if it’s the last thing I do, even if … I have to give in my notice.’
‘You can make a start by doing that,’ Rzecki exclaimed, ‘and you’ll be free before eleven, mark my words! You should have been a lord, not a shop-assistant, and it surprises me you never went in for that calling — you’d always have plenty of time then, Mr Mraczewski. Oh yes, indeed!’
‘Come, when you were his age, you ran after skirts too,’ Lisiecki remarked. ‘Why waste time preaching?’
‘I never did!’ cried Rzecki, thumping on the counter.
‘For once, in a way, he admits he’s been useless all his life,’ Lisiecki muttered to Klein, who smiled and raised his eyebrows very high at the same time.
Another customer entered and asked for a pair of galoshes. Mraczewski moved forward to meet him.
‘Galoshes for the gentleman? What size, may I ask? Ah, the gentleman doesn’t recall! Not everyone has the time to remember the size of his galoshes, that is our business. Will the gentleman permit me to measure …? Pray, take a seat. Paweł! Bring the rag, take off the gentleman’s galoshes and wipe his shoes for him …’
Paweł ran up and hurled himself at the newcomer’s feet.
‘If you please …’ the flustered customer began.
‘Allow me …’ said Mraczewski rapidly, ‘that is our duty. I think these will do,’ he went on, proffering a pair of galoshes tied together. ‘Very good, they look fine; you have such a very normal foot, sir, that one can’t go wrong as to size. The gentleman will no doubt require his initials added — what are they?’
‘L. P.,’ the customer muttered, as if drowning in the clerk’s rapid flow of eloquence.
‘Mr Lisiecki, Mr Klein, pray add the initials. Do you require your old galoshes wrapped, sir? Paweł! Wipe the galoshes and wrap them up … But perhaps the gentleman prefers not to carry an unnecessary package? Paweł! Throw the old galoshes away … That comes to two roubles fifty. No one will make off with galoshes that have initials on them, and it is always so disagreeable to find quite worn-out rubbish instead of articles one has just purchased …’
Before the customer could come to his senses, he was fitted with the new galoshes, given his change and conducted to the door with low bows. He stood for a while in the street, vacantly gazing through the glass, behind which Mraczewski bestowed on him a sweet smile and radiant look. Finally he shrugged and went on his way, no doubt thinking to himself that elsewhere galoshes without initials might only have cost ten zloty.
Rzecki turned to Lisiecki and nodded in a manner that signified admiration and satisfaction. Mraczewski caught this from a corner of his eye, ran over to Lisiecki and said in an undertone:
‘Just look, doesn’t our boss look like Napoleon III in profile? That nose … that moustache … that imperial …’
‘Napoleon with gallstones,’ Lisiecki retorted.
Ignacy grimaced with distaste at this witticism. However, Mraczewski got permission to leave before seven that evening, and a few days later acquired a note in Rzecki’s private journal:
‘He was at the Huguenots in the eighth row of the stalls with a certain Matilda …’
Mraczewski might have found some consolation to discover that the same journal contained notes about his colleagues, the cashier, the messenger-boys and even the servant Paweł. How Rzecki knew these and similar details of the lives of his fellow employees is a secret he never confided in anyone.
Towards one o’clock that afternoon, Rzecki handed over the cash-box to Lisiecki whom, despite their continual bickering, he trusted the most, and