The clerks were pleased that their young master was married and had come back at last; they looked at him with curiosity and friendly feeling, and each one thought it his duty to say something agreeable when he passed him.  But Laptev was convinced that it was not genuine, and that they were only flattering him because they were afraid of him.  He never could forget how fifteen years before, a clerk, who was mentally deranged, had run out into the street with nothing on but his shirt and shaking his fists at the windows, shouted that he had been ill-treated; and how, when the poor fellow had recovered, the clerks had jeered at him for long afterwards, reminding him how he had called his employers “planters” instead of “exploiters.”  Altogether the employees at Laptevs’ had a very poor time of it, and this fact was a subject of conversation for the whole market.  The worst of it was that the old man, Fyodor Stepanovitch, maintained something of an Asiatic despotism in his attitude to them.  Thus, no one knew what wages were paid to the old man’s favourites, Potchatkin and Makeitchev.  They received no more than three thousand a year, together with bonuses, but he made out that he paid then seven.  The bonuses were given to all the clerks every year, but privately, so that the man who got little was bound from vanity to say he had got more.  Not one boy knew when he would be promoted to be a clerk; not one of the men knew whether his employer was satisfied with him or not.  Nothing was directly forbidden, and so the clerks never knew what was allowed, and what was not.  They were not forbidden to marry, but they did not marry for fear of displeasing their employer and losing their place.  They were allowed to have friends and pay visits, but the gates were shut at nine o’clock, and every morning the old man scanned them all suspiciously, and tried to detect any smell of vodka about them: 

“Now then, breathe,” he would say.

Every clerk was obliged to go to early service, and to stand in church in such a position that the old man could see them all.  The fasts were strictly observed.  On great occasions, such as the birthday of their employer or of any member of his family, the clerks had to subscribe and present a cake from Fley’s, or an album.  The clerks lived three or four in a room in the lower storey, and in the lodges of the house in Pyatnitsky Street, and at dinner ate from a common bowl, though there was a plate set before each of them.  If one of the family came into the room while they were at dinner, they all stood up.

Laptev was conscious that only, perhaps, those among them who had been corrupted by the old man’s training could seriously regard him as their benefactor; the others must have looked on him as an enemy and a “planter.”  Now, after six months’ absence, he saw no change for the better; there was indeed something new which boded nothing good.  His brother Fyodor, who had always been quiet, thoughtful, and extremely refined, was now running about the warehouse with a pencil behind his ear making a show of being very busy and businesslike, slapping customers on the shoulder and shouting “Friends!” to the clerks.  Apparently he had taken up a new role, and Alexey did not recognise him in the part.