vil are my goloshes? They're lost. [Through the door] Anya, I
can't find my goloshes! I can't!

LOPAKHIN. I've got to go to Kharkov. I'm going in the same train as you.
I'm going to spend the whole winter in Kharkov. I've been hanging about
with you people, going rusty without work. I can't live without working.
I must have something to do with my hands; they hang about as if they
weren't mine at all.

TROFIMOV. We'll go away now and then you'll start again on your useful
labours.

LOPAKHIN. Have a glass.

TROFIMOV. I won't.

LOPAKHIN. So you're off to Moscow now?

TROFIMOV Yes. I'll see them into town and to-morrow I'm off to Moscow.

LOPAKHIN. Yes.... I expect the professors don't lecture nowadays;
they're waiting till you turn up!

TROFIMOV. That's not your business.

LOPAKHIN. How many years have you been going to the university?

TROFIMOV. Think of something fresh. This is old and flat. [Looking for
his goloshes] You know, we may not meet each other again, so just let me
give you a word of advice on parting: "Don't wave your hands about! Get
rid of that habit of waving them about. And then, building villas and
reckoning on their residents becoming freeholders in time--that's the
same thing; it's all a matter of waving your hands about.... Whether
I want to or not, you know, I like you. You've thin, delicate fingers,
like those of an artist, and you've a thin, delicate soul...."

LOPAKHIN. [Embraces him] Good-bye, dear fellow. Thanks for all you've
said. If you want any, take some money from me for the journey.

TROFIMOV. Why should I? I don't want it.

LOPAKHIN. But you've nothing!

TROFIMOV. Yes, I have, thank you; I've got some for a translation. Here
it is in my pocket. [Nervously] But I can't find my goloshes!

VARYA. [From the other room] Take your rubbish away! [Throws a pair of
rubber goloshes on to the stage.]

TROFIMOV. Why are you angry, Varya? Hm! These aren't my goloshes!

LOPAKHIN. In the spring I sowed three thousand acres of poppies, and now
I've made forty thousand roubles net profit. And when my poppies were
in flower, what a picture it was! So I, as I was saying, made forty
thousand roubles, and I mean I'd like to lend you some, because I can
afford it. Why turn up your nose at it? I'm just a simple peasant....

TROFIMOV. Your father was a peasant, mine was a chemist, and that means
absolutely nothing. [LOPAKHIN takes out his pocket-book] No, no....
Even if you gave me twenty