ANABEL. Ha!--Do you?--You'd soon see. You'd soon see where you'd be
if--- There's somebody coming. (Rises.)
GERALD. Never mind; it's the clerks leaving work, I suppose. Sit
still.
ANABEL. Won't you go?
GERALD. No. (A man draws near, followed by another.)
CLERK. Good evening, sir. (Passes on.) Good evening, Mr. Barlow.
ANABEL. They are afraid.
GERALD. I suppose their consciences are uneasy about this strike.
ANABEL. Did you come to sit here just to catch them, like a spider
waiting for them?
GERALD. No. I wanted to speak to Breffitt.
ANABEL. I believe you're capable of any horridness.
GERALD. All right, you believe it. (Two more figures approach.)
Good evening.
CLERKS. Good night, sir. (One passes, one stops.) Good evening,
Mr. Barlow. Er--did you want to see Mr. Breffitt, sir?
GERALD. Not particularly.
CLERK. Oh! He'll be out directly, sir--if you'd like me to go back
and tell him you wanted him?
GERALD. No, thank you.
CLERK. Good night, sir. Excuse me asking.
GERALD. Good night.
ANABEL. Who is Mr. Breffitt?
GERALD. He is the chief clerk--and cashier--one of father's old
pillars of society.
ANABEL. Don't you like him?
GERALD. Not much.
ANABEL. Why?--You seem to dislike very easily.
GERALD. Oh, they all used to try to snub me, these old buffers. They
detest me like poison, because I am different from father.
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