James. As bad as that, Cokeson?
Cokeson. It makes you think. [Confidentially] He must have had temptation.
James. Not so fast. We haven’t convicted him yet.
Cokeson. I’d sooner have lost a month’s
salary than had this happen.
[He broods.]
James. I hope that fellow will hurry up.
Cokeson. [Keeping things pleasant for the cashier] It isn’t fifty yards, Mr. James. He won’t be a minute.
James. The idea of dishonesty about this
office it hits me hard,
Cokeson.
He goes towards the door of the partners’ room.
Sweedle. [Entering quietly, to Cokeson in a low voice] She’s popped up again, sir-something she forgot to say to Falder.
Cokeson. [Roused from his abstraction] Eh? Impossible. Send her away!
James. What’s that?
Cokeson. Nothing, Mr. James. A private matter. Here, I’ll come myself. [He goes into the outer office as James passes into the partners’ room] Now, you really mustn’t—we can’t have anybody just now.
Ruth. Not for a minute, sir?
Cokeson. Reely! Reely! I can’t have it. If you want him, wait about; he’ll be going out for his lunch directly.
Ruth. Yes, sir.
Walter, entering
with the cashier, passes Ruth as she leaves the
outer office.
Cokeson. [To the cashier, who resembles a sedentary dragoon] Good-morning. [To Walter] Your father’s in there.
Walter crosses and goes into the partners’ room.
Cokeson. It’s a nahsty, unpleasant little matter, Mr. Cowley. I’m quite ashamed to have to trouble you.
Cowley. I remember the cheque quite well. [As if it were a liver] Seemed in perfect order.
Cokeson. Sit down, won’t you? I’m not a sensitive man, but a thing like this about the place—it’s not nice. I like people to be open and jolly together.
Cowley. Quite so.
Cokeson. [Buttonholing him, and glancing toward the partners’ room] Of course he’s a young man. I’ve told him about it before now— leaving space after his figures, but he will do it.
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?