“Finemastersthese——masterswhogrudgeoneagroat，andsquanderarouble！WhatifafireWEREtobreakout？Oh，theblockheads！“
Presently，theproprietorsinpersonissuedintothecourtyard——thestout，baldPeterBirkin，amanwhosefacewasflushedeventothewhitesofhisshiftyeyes，and，closebehindhim，ekehisshadow，JonahBirkin——apersonofsandy，sullenmien，andoverhangingbrows，anddull，heavyeyes。
“Goodday，dearsir，“saidPeterBirkinthinly，aswithapuffyhandheraisedfromhisheadaclothcap，whileJonahnodded。
Andthen，withasidelongglanceatmyself，askedinadeepbassvoice:
“Whoisthisyoungman？“