Part 12 (2/2)

GERALD. c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!

(Enter OLIVER and FREER.)

Oh, come in. Don't be afraid; it's a charade. (ANABEL rises.) No, don't go, Anabel. Corraggio! Take a seat, Mr. Freer.

JOB ARTHUR. Sounds like a sneezing game, doesn't it?

GERALD. It is. Do you know the famous rhyme:

Speak roughly to your little boy, And beat him when he sneezes?

JOB ARTHUR. No, I can't say I do.

GERALD. My mother does. Will you have anything to drink? Will you help yourself?

JOB ARTHUR. Well--no--I don't think I'll have anything, thanks.

GERALD. A cherry brandy?--Yes?--Anabel, what's yours?

ANABEL. Did I see k.u.mmel?

GERALD. You did. (They all take drinks.) What's the latest, Mr. Freer?

JOB ARTHUR. The latest? Well, I don't know, I'm sure---

GERALD. Oh, yes. Trot it out. We're quite private.

JOB ARTHUR. Well--I don't know. There's several things.

GERALD. The more the merrier.

JOB ARTHUR. I'm not so sure. The men are in a very funny temper, Mr.

Barlow--very funny.

GERALD. Coincidence--so am I. Not surprising, is it?

JOB ARTHUR. The men, perhaps not.

GERALD. What else, Job Arthur?

JOB ARTHUR. You know the men have decided to stand by the office men?

GERALD. Yes.

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