PERKINS: (Entering R. briskly.) Come on, Brooky, don't be so slow.
BROOKY: (Straggling in after PERKINS.) I say, old chap, this sort of work is most laborious. This flitting from one tram to another, and being jostled and ordered to "step lively" by vulgar guards, and running, yes actually running. It's not only bad taste, old man, but positively undignified. (Dusting shoes with handkerchief, L., PERKINS is up in vestibule of door C.)
PERKINS: If you want to supply your paper with live news, you've got to keep hustling.
BROOKY: Very true, but it seems such a waste of energy.
PERKINS: (Coming down to BROOKY.) No energy is wasted that is productive of flaring headlines. Now take that note pad I gave you, and get your pencil busy with a description of this neighborhood. (Goes R. making notes.)
BROOKY: (Taking paper and pencil from pockets after a search for them.) This is more like being a Scotland Yarder than a reporter.
PERKINS: A Scotland Yarder!
BROOKY: I should say detective.
PERKINS: (Coming L.) Let me tell you something, Brooky. The reporters and newspapers unravel more cases than the police.
BROOKY: I dare say you do. You're so damned inquisitive.