Next him WANKLIN, a man with jutting
eyebrows, and silver-streaked light hair, is bending over transfer
papers. TENCH, the Secretary, a short and rather humble, nervous
man, with side whiskers, stands helping him. On WANKLIN'S right
sits UNDERWOOD, the Manager, a quiet man, with along, stiff jaw,
and steady eyes. Back to the fire is SCANTLEBURY, a very large,
pale, sleepy man, with grey hair, rather bald. Between him and
the Chairman are two empty chairs.
WILDER. [Who is lean, cadaverous, and complaining, with drooping
grey moustaches, stands before the fire.] I say, this fire's the
devil! Can I have a screen, Tench?
SCANTLEBURY. A screen, ah!
TENCH. Certainly, Mr. Wilder. [He looks at UNDERWOOD.] That is--
perhaps the Manager--perhaps Mr. Underwood----
SCANTLEBURY. These fireplaces of yours, Underwood----
UNDERWOOD. [Roused from studying some papers.] A screen? Rather!
I'm sorry. [He goes to the door with a little smile.] We're not
accustomed to complaints of too much fire down here just now.
[He speaks as though he holds a pipe between his teeth, slowly,
ironically.]
WILDER. [In an injured voice.] You mean the men.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188