Abramka shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, is a week too much for a ball dress such as you will want? It’s got to be sewed, it can’t be pasted together, You, yourself, know that, Mrs. Zarubkin.”
“But supposing I order it only three days before the ball?”
Abramka started.
“Only three days before the ball? A ball dress? Am I a god, Mrs. Zarubkin? I am nothing but the ladies’ tailor, Abramka Stiftik.”
“Well, then you are a nice tailor!” said Tatyana Grigoryevna, scornfully. “In Moscow they made a ball dress for me in two days.”
Abramka jumped up as if at a shot, and beat his breast.
“Is that so? Then I say, Mrs. Zarubkin,” he cried pathetically, “if they made a ball gown for you in Moscow in two days, very well, then I will make a ball gown for you, if I must, in one day. I will neither eat nor sleep, and I won’t let my help off either for one minute. How does that suit you?”
“Sit down, Abramka, thank you very much. I hope I shall not have to put such a strain on you. It really does not depend upon me, otherwise I should have ordered the dress from you long ago.”
“It doesn’t depend upon you? Then upon whom does it depend?”