TIPPY.  The reason Russian is easy for me is because I never learned the alphabet.

KEN.  Boy, what an alphabet!

MARTIN. [Snapping his fingers.] Da, da, da—­ah, be, ve, ge.

TIPPY. [Picking up book.] Ya, ya, ya,—­vas ist das?  Das ist ein buch.

KEN.  Da, da, da,—­chto etto takoye?  Etto kneega.

MARTIN.  Fine.  Let’s go. [Holds up pencil.] Chto etto takoe?

KEN.  Etta karandash.

MARTIN. [Stands book on table.] Chto?

KEN.  Kneega stoeet na stolom.

MARTIN. [Throws book under table.] Gdye kneega?

KEN.  Kneega pod stalom.

MARTIN.  Great!  Now make a sentence of your own.

KEN. [Lamely.] Tovarisch Stalin ... [Stalls.]

TIPPY. [Cutting in smartly.] Krasnaya armeya pod stalom. [TIPPY hangs pants on chair back, and puts away ironing paraphernalia.]

[MARTIN goes to book shelf and gets Russian reader and dictionary.]

MARTIN.  I’ve only a few minutes.  But we can do half a page.  We’ll never get it unless we keep at it eternally.

KEN.  For eternity you mean.

MARTIN.  You’re doing fine with the reading.  It’ll help you no end when you get to Russia.

KEN.  God, what faith you have!

MARTIN.  Sure you’re going to Russia.  They have millions of buildings to build, and they can’t train architects fast enough. [Finds place in book.]

[KEN hesitates.]

KEN.  I’m not kidding myself.—­I’ve been doing this more to help you.

MARTIN.  Listen, Ken.  Even if you don’t go, you should know Russian so you can read Soviet architectural journals.  The years we wasted on dead languages!—­Russia’s alive.  They’re doing things, new things, big things!  Russian is the language of the next great sweep in world progress.

TIPPY.  Sez you.

MARTIN.  You read the New York Times.  Where does the real news come from?

TIPPY.  That depends on who is shooting which.

MARTIN.  Shooting isn’t news.  War isn’t news.  War is old—­atavistic, a confession of failure, evidence of retrogression.  News deals with new things:  progress, science, art, invention, the conquest of nature.  That’s real news.  And where is it coming from today?

TIPPY.  All right, all right.  When you have learned six thousand more verbs, each with a hundred irregular forms, then you can read it in Pravda.

[TIPPY carries board out to kitchen, MARTIN sits at table, KEN with him.  MARTIN finds place in book and points to a word.]

KEN. [Slowly, pronouncing all syllables in monotone, as TIPPY enters.] Al-yek-tree-feet-see-row-von-nuim ...

MARTIN. [In disgust.] Stuck on the first word. [Starts thumbing dictionary.]

TIPPY.  Word?  It sounded to me like a derogatory sentence.