"What can you do?" he went on. "There is nothing you can do! I am
an engineer. I am a man of an assured position, but before they
gave me a railway-line I was for years in harness; I have been a
practical mechanic. For two years I worked in Belgium as an oiler.
You can judge for yourself, my dear fellow, what kind of work can
I offer you?"

"Of course that is so . . ." I muttered in extreme confusion, unable
to face his clear, guileless eyes.

"Can you work the telegraph, any way?" he asked, after a moment's
thought.

"Yes, I have been a telegraph clerk."

"Hm! Well, we will see then. Meanwhile, go to Dubetchnya. I have
got a fellow there, but he is a wretched creature."

"And what will my duties consist of?" I asked.

"We shall see. Go there; meanwhile I will make arrangements. Only
please don't get drunk, and don't worry me with requests of any
sort, or I shall send you packing."

He turned away from me without even a nod.

I bowed to him and his daughter who was reading a newspaper, and
went away. My heart felt so heavy, that when my sister began asking
me how the engineer had received me, I could not utter a single
word.