Friend of Master, in normal twentieth-century clothes, with spectacles, followed by Servant.)
Friend : I should, er—I don’t know—if I could brush myself a little—to tell the truth—the dirt of the railway—it’s the worst thing on earth
Servant: You can get warm here by the stove and have a brush down. Grusha, bring a brush.
Friend: What a long way you are from the station! How’s the master, is he well?
Servant: Oh yes. Did you get good horses, if I might ask?
Friend (looking round amazed): Er, yes, not bad.
Servant: The girl will brush you, but master’s calling me. Grusha, do it properly! (Exit.)
Friend (moving away from the monkey): It, er—doesn’t bite?
Maid: It doesn’t bite its friends.
Friend: But strangers?
Maid: Strangers don’t come here.
Friend: Don’t come here ? But, er—your master, is he, er—absolutely well?
Maid: Yes, absolutely.
Friend: Lucky the monkey isn’t free!
Maid: Goodness gracious, why, nobody’s free at master’s.
