Underwood.  A quill!

Scantlebury.  The homely product of the goose. [He holds out quills.]

Underwood. [Drily.] Thanks, if you can spare me one. [He takes a quill.] What about lunch, Enid?

Enid. [Stopping at the double-doors and looking back.] We’re going to have lunch here, in the drawing-room, so you need n’t hurry with your meeting.

     [Wanklin and wilder bow, and she goes out.]

Scantlebury. [Rousing himself, suddenly.] Ah!  Lunch!  That hotel—­ Dreadful!  Did you try the whitebait last night?  Fried fat!

Wilder.  Past twelve!  Are n’t you going to read the minutes, Tench?

Tench. [Looking for the chairman’s assent, reads in a rapid and monotonous voice.] “At a Board Meeting held the 31st of January at the Company’s Offices, 512, Cannon Street, E.C.  Present—­Mr. Anthony in the chair, Messrs. F. H. Wilder, William Scantlebury, Oliver Wanklin, and Edgar Anthony.  Read letters from the Manager dated January 20th, 23d, 25th, 28th, relative to the strike at the Company’s Works.  Read letters to the Manager of January 21st, 24th, 26th, 29th.  Read letter from Mr. Simon Harness, of the Central Union, asking for an interview with the Board.  Read letter from the Men’s Committee, signed David Roberts, James Green, John Bulgin, Henry Thomas, George Rous, desiring conference with the Board; and it was resolved that a special Board Meeting be called for February 7th at the house of the Manager, for the purpose of discussing the situation with Mr. Simon Harness and the Men’s Committee on the spot.  Passed twelve transfers, signed and sealed nine certificates and one balance certificate.”

[He pushes the book over to the chairman.]

Anthony. [With a heavy sigh.] If it’s your pleasure, sign the same.

     [He signs, moving the pen with difficulty. ]

Wanklin.  What’s the Union’s game, Tench?  They have n’t made up their split with the men.  What does Harness want this interview for?

Tench.  Hoping we shall come to a compromise, I think, sir; he’s having a meeting with the men this afternoon.

Wilder.  Harness!  Ah!  He’s one of those cold-blooded, cool-headed chaps.  I distrust them.  I don’t know that we didn’t make a mistake to come down.  What time’ll the men be here?

Underwood.  Any time now.

Wilder.  Well, if we’re not ready, they’ll have to wait—­won’t do them any harm to cool their heels a bit.

Scantlebury. [Slowly.] Poor devils!  It’s snowing.  What weather!

Underwood. [With meaning slowness.] This house’ll be the warmest place they’ve been in this winter.

Wilder.  Well, I hope we’re going to settle this business in time for me to catch the 6.30.  I’ve got to take my wife to Spain to-morrow. [Chattily.] My old father had a strike at his works in ’69; just such a February as this.  They wanted to shoot him.