" It's a well-written thing.
FALDER. [Taking it, with a peculiar expression] Thank you, sir.
COKESON. And look here, Falder, before Mr. Walter comes, have you
finished up that cataloguing Davis had in hand before he left?
FALDER. I shall have done with it to-morrow, sir--for good.
COKESON. It's over a week since Davis went. Now it won't do,
Falder. You're neglecting your work for private life. I shan't
mention about the party having called, but----
FALDER. [Passing into his room] Thank you, sir.
COKESON stares at the door through which FALDER has gone out;
then shakes his head, and is just settling down to write, when
WALTER How comes in through the outer Office. He is a rather
refined-looking man of thirty-five, with a pleasant, almost
apologetic voice.
WALTER. Good-morning, Cokeson.
COKESON. Morning, Mr. Walter.
WALTER. My father here?
COKESON. [Always with a certain patronage as to a young man who
might be doing better] Mr. James has been here since eleven o'clock.
WALTER. I've been in to see the pictures, at the Guildhall.
COKESON. [Looking at him as though this were exactly what was to be
expected] Have you now--ye--es. This lease of Boulter's--am I to
send it to counsel?
WALTER. What does my father say?
COKESON. 'Aven't bothered him.
WALTER. Well, we can't be too careful.
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