Page:Poet Lore, volume 27, 1916.djvu/83

 Hlaváček.—Why, am I a sculptor?

Šimr.—I hear, Paroubek, that you’ve finished that caryatid.

Malina.—Well, I’m glad of that, myself.

Paroubek (Wrathily).—No, I didn’t! My stove smokes all the time!

Réza (Laughing).—Even to this day? And why do you have any fire at all? Most likely on account of that frozen thing, Marie. (Turning to the rest.) You have to keep a fire for her even in July, when she’s posing.

Paroubek.—I’m not running any fire—don’t you hear that my stove smokes? (Indistinctly.) Who’s going to burn a fire in May? (All laugh.)

Šimr.—Why shouldn’t you keep a fire in May? That’s what a stove is for.

Hlaváček (Strikes the table with his fist).—Šimr if you don’t cut out such silly, asinine jests—(Shakes his finger threateningly.)

Šimr.—Well?

Hlaváček.—Well, we'll eat that side of bacon ourselves, see?

Malina.—Well, I’m glad of that!

Bozena (Places herself coquettishly in front of ).—What do you say to it, Mr. Malina, I want to have my hair cut short.

Malina (In the same tone which by the disagreeable repetitions is all the more tiresome).—Well, I’m glad of that, myself.

Paroubek.—Do it, Bozena, but wait till the moon’s waxing. It’ll draw your hair out again.

Šimr.—Short, everything short! Bozena has to have everything brief! She had that last beau for an entire two days.

Bozena.—Just wait till a wife has you on a short bridle!

Paroubek (Settled comfortably on the divan. Pokes with his elbow).—D’ye know whom we met just now?

Hlaváček (Who, during the scene just preceding has sat with his hands on his knees, on the stool near the easel, hears words).—Was it Dušek?

Paroubek (Nodding).—Dušek. Was he here?

Šimr.—Yes, and poisoned the air. (Opening the parcel which he brought.) If it got even into this side of bacon

Paroubek (Continuing).—He certainly looks bad —doesn’t he, Láda?

Hlaváček.—Did you talk with him?

Paroubek.—I should say not! He turned the corner when he caught sight of us.