you, either. (Reproachfully) Don’t you know where I live?
Hlaváček.—Well, but are you ever at home? I always make a useless trip up to your attic, when I want to see you.
Dušek.—As if my studio weren’t just around the corner!
Hlaváček.—And it’s further from your place here than from mine to yours, eh?
Dušek.—Oh, well!—Anyway, it’s all—(Waves his hand) why should I interrupt? (A pause.)
Hlaváček (After a while).—Are you painting?
Dušek (Crossly).—Painting—the devil! I’ve got a lot of inspiration to paint!
Hlavaáček.—Well, then, what are you doing?
Dušek (Ill-humoredly).—Nothing! (A pause) Have you a cigarette?
Hlaváček (Inclines his head toward the little table).—No, I haven’t, but there’s the tobacco, help yourself—
Dušek (Goes to the table and rolls a cigarette. Then he stands behind Hlaváček).—For whom are you making this?
Hlaváček (Bends backward and gazes at his sketch).—Oh, this is only to fill in as a rest. I bought the azalea the other day and thought I’d try out some paints on them before they stop blooming. (Looks intently at the azaleas.) What a tone to them, isn’t there? They look rose-colored when the sun shines on them.
Dušek.—Have you lots of work?
Hlaváček.—You know how it goes, something to do all the time. Weren’t you at the Rudolfinum gallery?
(Dušek shakes his head.)
Hlaváček.—I have that last year’s canvas on exhibition there, you remember it? The one on account of which you invoked maledictions on my head because I wasn’t in a hurry about painting at it, “The Will o’ the Wisp.” Well, you see, brother, it’s done.
Dušek (Throws away the unfinished cigarette. Bitterly).—Well, you see! (A pause.) Is Šimr with you now?
(Hlaváček nods.)
Dušek.—And what is he doing?
Hlaváček.—Gadding around. But he has luck, the rascal. He sold his picture.
Dušek (Timidly).—A big one?
Hlaváček (Laughing).—Oh, a larger family size! (Takes a good look at Dušek.)—Well, Milo, how about it?
Dušek.—What?
