Page:Anton Chekhov - The Boor - Tr. Hilmar Baukhage (1915).djvu/15

 Rh I'm sorry I can't pay you to-day.

And I can't wait until day after to-morrow.

But what can I do if I haven't it?

So you can't pay?

I cannot.

Hm! Is that your last word?

My last.

Absolutely?

Absolutely.

Thank you. (He shrugs his shoulders) And they expect me to stand for all that. The toll-gatherer just now met me in the road and asked me why I was always worrying? Why in Heaven's name shouldn't I worry? I need money, I feel the knife at my throat. Yesterday morning I left my house in the early dawn and called on all my debtors. If even one of them had paid his debt! I worked the skin off my fingers! The devil knows in what sort of Jew-inn I slept: in a room with a barrel of brandy! And now at last I come here, seventy versts from home, hope for a little money and all you give me is moods! Why shouldn't I worry?

I thought I made it plain to you that my manager will return from town, and then you will get your money?

I did not come to see the manager, I came to see you. What the devil—pardon the language—do I care for your manager?

Really, sir, I am not used to such language or such manners. I shan't listen to you any further. (She goes out, left)

What can one say to that? Moods! Seven months since her husband died! Do I have to pay the interest or not? I repeat the question, have I to pay the interest or not? The husband is dead and all that; the manager is—the