Shiryàlov. Antìp Antìpych, you’re my benefactor, my—I’ll tell you what: we’ve had a little drink here; come to me and we’ll make a regular jolly night of it. There’s more room in my place, and there are no women-folk, and we’ll fetch in the factory hands to give us a song.
Antìp. All right. You go on and get everything ready, and I’ll come in a minute; I’ll just get my cap. (Shiryàlov goes out.)
Antìp (alone, winks). What a beast it is! And such a sly fox! To see the doleful ways he puts on. It’s all poor Sènka’s fault. It’s very well for you to talk, my man, you’ve just got a sweet tooth in your old age. Well, for my part, I don’t care; it’s all one to me. But I know one thing, Paramòn Ferapòntych; when it comes to the dowry, who’ll get the best of who—that’s quite another matter. Mamma and I are not quite so green as you think. (Goes out.)
(Matryòna enters, showily dressed; Dàrya follows her.)
Matryòna. Has Antìp Antìpych gone out?
Dàrya. Yes, ma’am.
Matryòna. Off on the spree! What a nuisance it is. He’ll disappear for two or three days now!
(Màrya enters, in her best clothes.)
Màrya. Come along, sister! Do you know how I got leave?
Matryòna. How?