A SEPARATE PARAGRAPH ABOUT FOUR-EYES
Perhaps the only human being among the bosses was the elderly man Yefimych, the book-keeper. If you asked him: “Are you an accountant?”, he always replied: “No, I’m a book-keeper.” We considered this bald four-eyes to be a strange adult: first, he treated us like equals, and second, he smiled when he met us and politely asked: “Well, young man, how is your transverse life?” Of course, none of us could say anything to him in reply, or understand what this “transverse life” was for us pipsqueaks. Many even avoided him. Yefimych wore thick glasses on his memorable large-nosed face. To wipe them, he carried a soft cloth that was attached by a string to the front pocket of a shabby jacket. Every time that he took his misted glasses off, he shut his puffy,
