“Here, Alyosha, I must introduce our Tambov benefactor, Grigory Timofeitch.  He might serve as an example for the young men of the day; he’s passed his fiftieth birthday, and he has tiny children.”

The clerks laughed, and the customer, a lean old man with a pale face, laughed too.

“Nature above the normal capacity,” observed the head-clerk, who was standing at the counter close by.  “It always comes out when it’s there.”

The head-clerk—­a tall man of fifty, in spectacles, with a dark beard, and a pencil behind his ear—­usually expressed his ideas vaguely in roundabout hints, while his sly smile betrayed that he attached particular significance to his words.  He liked to obscure his utterances with bookish words, which he understood in his own way, and many such words he used in a wrong sense.  For instance, the word “except.”  When he had expressed some opinion positively and did not want to be contradicted, he would stretch out his hand and pronounce: 

“Except!”

And what was most astonishing, the customers and the other clerks understood him perfectly.  His name was Ivan Vassilitch Potchatkin, and he came from Kashira.  Now, congratulating Laptev, he expressed himself as follows: 

“It’s the reward of valour, for the female heart is a strong opponent.”

Another important person in the warehouse was a clerk called Makeitchev—­a stout, solid, fair man with whiskers and a perfectly bald head.  He went up to Laptev and congratulated him respectfully in a low voice: 

“I have the honour, sir. . .  The Lord has heard your parent’s prayer.  Thank God.”

Then the other clerks began coming up to congratulate him on his marriage.  They were all fashionably dressed, and looked like perfectly well-bred, educated men.  Since between every two words they put in a “sir,” their congratulations—­something like “Best wishes, sir, for happiness, sir,” uttered very rapidly in a low voice—­sounded rather like the hiss of a whip in the air—­“Shshsh-s s s s s!” Laptev was soon bored and longing to go home, but it was awkward to go away.  He was obliged to stay at least two hours at the warehouse to keep up appearances.  He walked away from the counter and began asking Makeitchev whether things had gone well while he was away, and whether anything new had turned up, and the clerk answered him respectfully, avoiding his eyes.  A boy with a cropped head, wearing a grey blouse, handed Laptev a glass of tea without a saucer; not long afterwards another boy, passing by, stumbled over a box, and almost fell down, and Makeitchev’s face looked suddenly spiteful and ferocious like a wild beast’s, and he shouted at him: 

“Keep on your feet!”