[Deemer]
(Masha and Medvedenko start off.)
IRINA: Wait a minute.
MASHA: What is it?
IRINA: I want to make sure they are coming.
MASHA: Are you worried about whether the play will be good or not?
IRINA: Not as much as Kostya is worrying, I'm sure. I didn't know he'd taken such an interest in writing. Has he been at it long?
MASHA: Yes, he is writing all the time. I see him in the garden or by the lake, scribbling away into his journal. I'm surprised you didn't know.
IRINA: He never talks about it. Do you know what he writes?
MASHA: I imagine him writing poetry.
MED.: You've heard him recite?
MASHA: Oh no, he's much too private about his work for that.
MED.: Showing us a play is private?
MASHA: I was talking about his poetry.
IRINA: I can't imagine him a poet! Hard enough a playwright.
MASHA: I think his play will be good.
IRINA: I hope it's a comedy. Young writers can be so tediously serious.
MASHA: You think he'll write a farce for us?
(She has to laugh.)
IRINA: I can hope.
MASHA: Not a chance.
IRINA: You probably know my son better than I do. Here they come.
(The three men come outside from the kitchen, and all move to the stage.)