THE MAN CARRYING THE POLE [_stopping and speaking in a loud voice_]. I had been bald from the day of my birth and for a long time thereafter. That miserable growth, which in my tenth year covered my scalp was more like wool than real hair. When I was married my skull was as bare as a pillow and my young bride-- TOURIST. What a tragedy! Newly married and with such a head! Can you realize how dreadful that is, children? [_All listen with interest, even the policeman stopping in his arduous task and inclining his ear with his pen in his hand._] THE MAN CARRYING THE POLE [_solemnly_]. And the time came when my matrimonial happiness literally hung by a hair. All the medicines recommended by quacks to make my hair grow-- TOURIST. Your note-book, Jimmie. MILITARY WOMAN. But when is he going to fall? HOTEL KEEPER [_amiably_]. The next time, lady, the next time. I won't tie him so hard--you understand? [_Curtain._] THE BOOR A COMEDY BY ANTON TCHEKOFF TRANSLATED BY HILMAR BAUKAGE. Copyright, 1915, by Samuel French. CHARACTERS HELENA IVANOVNA POPOV [_a young widow, mistress of a country estate_]. GRIGORJI STEPANOVITCH SMIRNOV [_proprietor of a country estate_]. LUKA [_servant of Mrs. Popov_]. A GARDENER. A COACHMAN. _Several Workmen._ PLACE: _The Estate of Mrs. Popov_. TIME: _The Present_. [_The stage shows an elegantly furnished reception room._] Reprinted from "The World's Best Plays by Celebrated European Authors," edited by Barrett H. Clark, and published by Samuel French, by permission of, and special arrangements with, Samuel French. THE BOOR A COMEDY BY ANTON TCHEKOFF [_Mrs. Popov discovered in deep mourning, sitting upon a sofa, gazing steadfastly at a photograph. Luka is also present._] LUKA. It isn't right, ma'am--You're wearing yourself out! The maid and the cook have gone looking for berries, everything that breathes is enjoying life, even the cat knows how to be happy--slips about the courtyard and catches birds; but you hide yourself here in the house as though you were in a cloister and have no pleasures--Yes, truly, by actual reckoning you haven't left this house for a whole year. MRS. POPOV. And I shall never leave it--why should I? My life is over. He lies in his grave, and I have buried myself within these four walls. We are both dead.