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“ are you all the time fussing in those shelves?” howled out the chief counsellor at Konopásek, the dayclerk who alone of the force remained in the office on Christmas day.

It was late in the afternoon. The attorney was hastily completing some documents in order not to have so much to do after the holidays and was angry at the clerk, who had already arisen several times from his copying work and had been rooting around in the cabinet where the supplies were kept. First, he needed writing-sand, next he looked for a longer ruler, again he picked around among pieces of sealing wax. Up to this moment the counsellor had said nothing and had only pulled at his nose, as was his habit when inward wrath overpowered him-but finally the constant running about of the lean, gray-haired clerk exasperated him to such a pitch that he burst out on him. “It’s nothing, Mr. Counsellor, nothing,” answered