LOMAX. No, sir. That is, not'exactly.
JABEZ. Speak up, man. Are they grumbling?
LOMAX (coughing). I understand that there have been a few remarks passed.
JABEZ. Strong ones, eh? Um—— Got your notebook?
LOMAX. No, sir. I'll—— (Turning towards door l.)
JABEZ. Never mind. Sit down here. (Lomax sits in Jabez's chair.) Write. (Lomax bends to write.) Wait a moment. (Lomax looks up.) When's the inquest fixed for?
LOMAX. Wednesday, sir.
JABEZ. That's the 17th. Funeral the next day, I suppose?
LOMAX. Yes, sir.
JABEZ. Very well. (Motioning him to write. Lomax bends over and writes. Jabez crosses to desk and stands over Lomax, dictating.)