COWLEY. I should remember the person's face--quite a youth.
COKESON. I don't think we shall be able to show him to you, as a
matter of fact.
JAMES and WALTER have come back from the partners' room.
JAMES. Good-morning, Mr. Cowley. You've seen my son and myself,
you've seen Mr. Cokeson, and you've seen Sweedle, my office-boy. It
was none of us, I take it.
The cashier shakes his head with a smile.
JAMES. Be so good as to sit there. Cokeson, engage Mr. Cowley in
conversation, will you?
He goes toward FALDER'S room.
COKESON. Just a word, Mr. James.
JAMES. Well?
COKESON. You don't want to upset the young man in there, do you?
He's a nervous young feller.
JAMES. This must be thoroughly cleared up, Cokeson, for the sake of
Falder's name, to say nothing of yours.
COKESON. [With Some dignity] That'll look after itself, sir. He's
been upset once this morning; I don't want him startled again.
JAMES. It's a matter of form; but I can't stand upon niceness over a
thing like this--too serious. Just talk to Mr. Cowley.
He opens the door of FALDER'S room.
JAMES. Bring in the papers in Boulter's lease, will you, Falder?
COKESON. [Bursting into voice] Do you keep dogs?
The cashier, with his eyes fixed on the door, does not answer.
COKESON. You haven't such a thing as a bulldog pup you could spare
me, I suppose?
At the look on the cashier's face his jaw drops, and he turns to
see FALDER standing in the doorway, with his eyes fixed on
COWLEY, like the eyes of a rabbit fastened on a snake.
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