In the station house, the policeman handed the passport and the five-kopeck piece to the lieutenant on duty. He examined the coin and offered me a chair. I sat down. The lieutenant said disdainfully, “Hand in the change,” and also immersed himself in the study of my passport. I shoveled out the coppers. “Count them, Kovalev,” said the lieutenant and looked at me steadily.
“Bought much?” he asked.
“A lot,” I answered.
“Hand it in, too,” said the lieutenant.
I laid out four issues of two-day-old Pravdas, three issues of the local Fisherman, two issues of the Literary Gazette, eight boxes of matches, six pieces of Golden Key toffee, and a marked-down wire brush for cleaning kerosine stoves.
“I can’t hand in the drinks,” I said dryly. “Five glasses with syrup and four without syrup.”
I w
