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 fingers and filled the emptied boxes. When he had finished this, he sat down on a chair to continue his work. But he could not go on. His fingers trembled, in his eyes a mist formed and there was a roaring in his temples. Shame, dismissal, wretchedness—and after all, the children will have nothing to eat to-day!

The attorney glanced at Konopásek several times and wiped his glasses and his eyes, after which he sneezed violently a number of times. He, too, could not work. He was doubtless angry at the good-for-nothing clerk who stole wafers in order to bake them up with shreds of fat, for a Christmas dinner for his children. He twisted for a while in his chair, rose finally and approached the door. The clerk shivered anew. Now he was to hear his fate.

The attorney stepped a little closer to the transgressor, and not looking at Konopásek, ordered, “Take your coat and hat and go to the market. Buy a carp, a good big one and take it home to the wife at once, you understand? So that she’d have time to get it ready. Then buy the children nuts and apples and for your wife get a bottle of punch or tea or whatever you want to drink after supper. Here, take this and get out!”

At the concluding words, he drew from his pocket a wallet, opened it, took out a bit of paper and laid it on the table. The astonished Konopásek saw before him a ten-florin note.

“Jesus Mary, Mr. Counsellor!” broke from the lips