isn't receiving! All right, it isn't necessary. I won't receive, either! I'll sit here and stay until you bring that money. If you're ill a week, I'll sit here a week. If you're ill a year, I'll sit here a year. As Heaven is my witness, I'll get the money. You don't disturb me with your mourning—or with your dimples. We know these dimples! (He calls out the window) Simon, unharness! We aren't going to leave right away. I am going to stay here. Tell them in the stable to give the horses some oats. The left horse has twisted the bridle again. (Imitating him) Stop! I'll show you how. Stop! (Leaves window) It's awful. Unbearable heat, no money, didn't sleep last night and now—mourning-dresses with moods. My head aches; perhaps I ought to have a drink. Ye-s, I must have a drink. (Calling) Servant!
Luka. What do you wish?
Smirnov. Something to drink! (Luka goes out. Smirnov sits down and looks at his clothes) Ugh, a fine figure! No use denying that. Dust, dirty boots, unwashed, uncombed, straw on my vest—the lady probably took me for a highwayman. (He yawns) It was a little impolite to come into a reception room with such clothes. Oh, well, no harm done. I'm not here as a guest. I'm a creditor. And there is no special costume for creditors.
Luka. (Entering with glass) You take great liberty, sir.
Smirnov. (Angrily) What?
Luka. I—I—I just
Smirnov. Whom are you talking to? Keep quiet.
Luka. (Angrily) Nice mess! This fellow won't leave! (He goes out)
Smirnov. Lord, how angry I am! Angry enough to throw mud at the whole world! I even feel ill! Servant!
