He put on a frock-coat which he seldom wore and in which he felt constrained and uneasy: his body had grown stouter with years, and the frock-coat sat badly on him. He was annoyed because he had no orders or decorations to wear. Other people had them--even Falastov of the Town School had--and he, Peredonov, had none. It was all the Head-Master's malice: not once had he been nominated. He was sure of his rank: this the Head-Master could not take away--but what was the use of that, if there were no visible signs of it? However, his new uniform would show his rank: it was pleasant to think that the epaulettes of this uniform would be according to the rank and not according to the class he taught. This would look important--the epaulettes like a general's and one large star. Everyone in the street could see at once that a State Councillor was walking by. "I shall have to order my new uniform soon," thought Peredonov. He went into the street and only then he began to wonder with whom he should begin. It seemed to him that in his circumstances the most important people were the Commissioner of Police and the District Attorney. It was obvious that he ought to begin with them or possibly with the Marshal of the Nobility. But at the thought of starting with them he was seized with apprehension. Marshal Veriga was after all a general who had a governorship in view. The Commissioner of Police and the District Attorney were the terrible representatives of the police and the law. "At the beginning," thought Peredonov, "I ought to begin with the lesser officials and then look about me and nose around--then it will be clear how they'll treat me and what they'll say about me." This is why Peredonov decided that it would be wiser to begin with the Mayor. Although he was a merchant and had only been educated in the District school, still he went about everywhere and everyone came to his house. His position gave him the respect of the town, and even in other towns and in the capital he had quite important acquaintances. And Peredonov resolutely turned in the direction of the Mayor's house. The weather was gloomy, the leaves fell from the boughs submissively and wearily. Peredonov felt somewhat apprehensive. In the Mayor's house a smell of freshly-waxed parquet floors mingled with a barely perceptible and yet pleasant odour of food. It was quiet and depressing there. The Mayor's children, a schoolboy and a growing girl--"She has a governess to look after her," her father used to say--were decorously in their rooms. There it was cosy, restful and cheerful; the windows looked out on the garden; the furniture was comfortable; there were all sorts of games in the rooms and in the garden. The children's voices sounded cheerfully.