I went out into the world as "shop-boy" at a fashionable boot-shop inthe main street of the town. My master was a small, round man. He had abrown, rugged face, green teeth, and watery, mud-colored eyes. At firstI thought he was blind, and to see if my supposition was correct, Imade a grimace.
"Don't pull your face about!" he said to me gently, but sternly. Thethought that those dull eyes could see me was unpleasant, and I did notwant to believe that this was the case. Was it not more than probablethat he had guessed I was making grimaces?
"I told you not to pull your face about," he said again, hardly movinghis thick lips.
"Don't scratch your hands," his dry whisper came to me, as it were,stealthily. "You are serving in a first-class shop in the main streetof the town, and you must not forget it. The door-boy ought to standlike a statue."
I did not know what a statue was, and I could n't help scratching myhands, which were covered with red pimples and sores, for they had beensimply devoured by vermin.
"What did you do for a living when you were at home?" asked my master,looking at my hands.
I told him, and he shook his round head, which was closely covered withgray hair, and said in a shocked voice:
"Rag-picking! Why, that is worse than begging or stealing!"
I informed him, not without pride:
"But I stole as well."
At this he laid his hands on his desk, looking just like a cat with herpaws up, and fixed his eyes on my face with a terrified expression ashe whispered:
"Wha—a—t? How did you steal?"
I explained how and what I had stolen.
"Well, well, I look upon that as nothing but a prank. But if you rob meof boots or money, I will have you put in prison, and kept there forthe rest of your life."
He said this quite calmly, and I was frightened, and did not like himany more.
Besides the master, there were serving in the shop my cousin, SaschaJaakov, and the senior assistant, a competent, unctuous person with ared face. Sascha now wore a brown frock-coat, a false shirt-front, acravat, and long trousers, and was too proud to take any notice of me.
When grandfather had brought me to my master, he had asked Sascha tohelp me and to teach me. Sascha had frowned with an air of importanceas he said warning:
"He will have to do what I tell him, then."
Laying his hand on my head, grandfather had forced me to bend my neck.
"You are to obey him; he is older than you both in years andexperience."
And Sascha said to me, with a nod:
"Don't forget what grandfather has said." He lost no time in profitingby his seniority.
"Kashirin, don't look so goggle-eyed," his master would advise him.
"I—I'm all right," Sascha would mutter, putting his head down. But themaster would not leave him alone.
"Don't butt; the customers will think you are a goat."
The assistant smiled respectfully, the master stretched his lips ina hideous grin, and Sascha, his face flushing, retreated behind thecounter. I did not like the tone of these conversations. Many of thewords they used were unintelligible to me, and sometimes they seemed tobe speaking in a strange language. When a lady customer came in, themaster would take his hands out of his pockets, tug at his mustache,and fix a sweet smile upon his face—a smile which wrinkled his cheeks,but did not change the expression of his dull eyes. The assistantwould