He dressed as if he could allow himself a few luxuries and was as neatly kept as his desk.

It was not only in dress that Alfonso differed from his colleague. He was clean, yet everything he wore, from his freshly-ironed but yellowish collar to his grey waistcoat, showed untrained taste and a wish to avoid spending. Miceni, who was vain, would tease him by saying that his only luxuries were his bright blue eyes, their effect spoiled, according to Miceni, by a thick, ill-kept, chestnut-coloured beard. Though tall and strong, he seemed too tall when standing, and, since he held his body bent slightly forward as if to ensure balance, he looked weak and rather vague.

Sanneo, the head of the correspondence department, now hurried in. He was about thirty, tall and thin, with light, faded hair. Every part of his long body was in constant movement; behind his glasses moved pale restless eyes.

He asked Alfonso for a book of addresses and, as the word did not occur to him at once, tried to show the shape of the book with his hands, trembling with impatience. On getting it, as he was nervously flicking over the pages, he gave Miceni a polite smile and asked him to stay on as he had more work for him. Miceni at once took off his overcoat, carefully hung it up, sat down, took his pen and awaited instructions.

Alfonso did not like Signor Sanneo’s brusqueness, but he had to admire him. Very active, though physically weak, Sanneo had a formidable memory and knew the tiniest detail of every little business deal, however long ago. Always alert, he wielded his pen with speed and ability. On some days he would work ten hours nonstop, indefatigably organizing and registering. He would discuss some petty detail intensely, as Alfonso knew from copies of letters he happened to see.

“Why does he put so much into it?” Alfonso would ask himself, not understanding the other’s passion for his work.

Sanneo had a defect which Alfonso learnt of from Miceni. He was inclined to pick favourites capriciously and persecute those out of favour. He seemed quite incapable of liking more than one person in the office at a time. Just then his favourite was Miceni.

Signor Maller opened the door and, after making sure Sanneo was there, entered the room. Alfonso had never seen him before. He was thick-set, rather tall. His breathing could be heard at times, though he did not suffer from shortness of breath. He was almost bald, with a thick beard, cut short, fair to red. He wore gold-rimmed glasses. Red skin gave his head a rather coarse look.

He did not glance at the two clerks, who had got to their feet, or answer their greeting. Handing a telegram to Sanneo with a smile, he said: “The Mortgage Bank! We’re in on it!”

This message from Rome had been expected for days and meant that Maller & Company was entrusted with underwriting the share issue for the new Mortgage Bank.

Sanneo understood and went pale. That message deprived him of the hours of rest on which he had counted. He controlled himself with a great effort and stood listening attentively to the instructions given him.

The issue was to take place two days later, but Maller & Company had to know the names of subscribers by tomorrow evening. Signor Maller mentioned some companies to which he particularly wanted offers sent. Others were to be addressed to clients to whom other similar offers had already been made. That very night some hundred telegrams were to be sent, prepared many days in advance without addresses and leaving blank the number of shares, which were to vary according to the importance of the company. But the work which would so prolong office hours consisted of letters of confirmation to be written out and dispatched at once.

“I’ll be back at eleven,” concluded Signor Maller. “Please leave on my desk a list of the companies telegraphed and a note of the number of shares offered them, and I’ll sign the letters.”

He went off with a polite greeting not addressed to anyone in particular.

Sanneo, who had now had time to resign himself, said jovially to the two young men, “I hope we’ll be done by ten o’clock or before, so that when Signor Maller gets back he’ll find the offices empty. Now to work.”

He told Miceni to tell the other correspondence clerks and Alfonso, the dispatch clerk, about the new task, then hurried out.

Miceni re-opened his closed ink-pot, took a packet of writing paper from a drawer and flung it on the table.

“If I’d gone off punctually on my own business, they’d never have laid hands on me to make me spend the night here.”

Alfonso walked off with a yawn.