The Twelve Chairs / Двенадцать стульев. Книга для чтения на английском языке

At Easter, let's say, he'd give me another three roubles…. Then on his birthday, let's say. In a year I'd get as much as fifteen roubles from wishing him. He even promised to give me a medal. �I want my caretaker to have a medal,' he used to say. That's what he would say: „Tikhon, consider that you already have the medal.“»

В«And did he give you one?В»

«Wait a moment…. I don't want a caretaker without a medal,' he used to say. He went to St. Petersburg to get me a medal. Well, the first time it didn't work out.

The officials didn't want to give me one. „The Tsar,“ he used to say, „has gone abroad. It isn't possible just now.“ So the master told me to wait. „Just wait a bit, Tikhon,“ he used to say, „you'll get your medal.“»

В«And what happened to this master of yours? Did they bump him off?В»

«No one bumped him off. He went away. What was the good of him staying here with the soldiers? … Do they give medals to caretakers nowadays?»

В«Certainly. I can arrange one for youВ».

The caretaker looked at Bender with veneration.

В«I can't be without one. It's that kind of workВ».

В«Where did your master go?В»

В«Heaven knows. People say he went to ParisВ».

В«Ah, white acacia-the emigre's flower! So he's an emigre!В»

«Emigre yourself…. He went to Paris, so people say. And the house was taken over for old women. You greet them every day, but they don't even give you a ten-kopek bit! Yes, he was some master!»

At that moment the rusty bell above the door began to ring.

The caretaker ambled over to the door, opened it, and stepped back in complete amazement.

On the top step stood Ippolit Matveyevich Vorobyaninov with a black moustache and black hair. His eyes behind his pince-nez had a pre-revolutionary twinkle.

В«Master!В» bellowed Tikhon with delight. В«Back from Paris!В»

Ippolit Matveyevich became embarrassed by the presence of the stranger, whose bare purple feet he had just spotted protruding from behind the table, and was about to leave again when Ostap Bender briskly jumped up and made a low bow.

В«This isn't Paris, but you're welcome to our abodeВ».

Ippolit Matveyevich felt himself forced to say something.

В«Hello, Tikhon. I certainly haven't come from Paris. Where did you get that strange idea from?В»

But Ostap Bender, whose long and noble nose had caught the scent of roast meat, did not give the caretaker time to utter a word.