SATINE. I was. There are some excellent books—and lots of curious words . . . Once I was an educated man, do you know?
BUBNOFF. I’ve heard it a hundred times. Well, so you were! That isn’t very important! Me—well—once I was a furrier. I had my own shop—what with dyeing the fur all day long, my arms were yellow up to the elbows, brother. I thought I’d never be able ever to get clean again—that I’d go to my grave, all yellow! But look at my hands now—they’re plain dirty—that’s what!
SATINE. Well, and what then?
BUBNOFF. That’s all!
SATINE. What are you trying to prove?
BUBNOFF. Oh, well—just matching thoughts—no matter how much dye you get on yourself, it all comes off in the end—yes, yes—
SATINE. Oh—my bones ache!
THE ACTOR [sits, nursing his knees] Education is all rot. Talent is the thing. I knew an actor—who read his parts by heart, syllable by syllable—but he played heroes in a way that . . . why—the whole theatre would rock with ecstasy!
SATINE. Bubnoff, give me five kopecks.
BUBNOFF. I only have two—