(Holds out his own
case)
BOB (taking one). Thanks. (Awkwardly) You're so confoundedly
difficult to get hold of nowadays. Never less than half-a-dozen all
round you.
GERALD (laughing). Good old Bob!
BOB (after lighting a cigarette). I want to talk to you about
something.
GERALD. Well, of course.
BOB (after a pause). You've heard of Marcus, my partner?
GERALD (with the idea of putting himself and BOB more at their
ease). Good old Marcus and Farringdon! It's the most perfect name
for a firm. They sound so exactly as though they could sell you
anything from a share to a shaving-brush. Marcus and Farringdon's
pure badger, two shillings--gilt-edged badger half-a-crown.
BOB (fiercely). I suppose everything is just a pleasant joke to
you.
GERALD (utterly surprised). Bob! Bob, old boy, what's the matter?
(Putting his hand on BOB'S shoulder) I say, Bob, I haven't hurt
you, have I?
BOB (hopelessly). Oh, Jerry, I believe I'm in the devil of a hole.
GERALD. You haven't called me "Jerry" since we were at school.
BOB. You got me out of holes then--damn you! and you were my
younger brother. Oh, Jerry, get me out of this one.
GERALD. But, of course. (Firmly, as if a little nervous of a scene
from BOB) My dear Bob, you're as right as anything. You've got
nothing on earth to worry about.
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