(GERALD comes back slowly.)
GERALD. I warn you those are rotten cigarettes. (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?