«What's his na…»

Before Korotkov had time to finish his question, a terrible voice boomed «Messenger!» from the office. The Chief Clerk and the secretary fled in opposite directions. Diving into his office, Korotkov sat down at his desk and delivered the following speech to himself:

«Watch out, Korotkov, old boy. You've landed in a bit of a mess. We'll have to put things right. 'Immature' indeed. Cheeky devil! You'll see how immature Korotkov is!»

With his one good eye the Chief Clerk read the bald man's missive. Scrawled across the paper were the words: «All typists and women staff in general will be issued in good time with military uniform longjohns.»

«Oo, that'll be the day!» Korotkov exclaimed with delight, shuddering voluptuously at the thought of Lidochka wearing longjohns. Without further ado, he took a clean sheet of paper and composed the following.

«Telephonogram.

«To the head of Supplies Sub-Section stop. In reply to your memorandum No. 0.15015 (b) of the 19th comma MACBAMM hereby informs you that all typists and women staff in general will be issued in good time with soldiers' uniform longjohns stop Base head signed Chief Clerk dash Varfolomei Korotkov stop.»

He buzzed for the messenger Panteleimon and told him:

«Take this to the boss for signature.»

Panteleimon ruminated for a moment, took the paper and went out.

For the next four hours Korotkov listened hard, without leaving his room, so that if the new boss decided to take a look round he would be sure to find him with his nose to the grindstone. But not a sound came from the terrible office. Only once did he hear in the distance an iron voice which seemed to be threatening to give someone the sack, but precisely whom Korotkov could not make out, although he put his ear to the keyhole. At 3.30 p. m. Panteleimon's voice was heard from the General Office.