COWLEY. If I'm wanted, I can swear that's the young man who cashed the cheque. It was the last cheque I handled that morning before my lunch. These are the numbers of the notes he had. [He puts a slip of paper on the table; then, brushing his hat round] Good-morning!
JAMES. Good-morning, Mr. Cowley!
COWLEY. [To COKESON] Good-morning.
COKESON. [With Stupefaction] Good-morning.
The cashier goes out through the outer office. COKESON sits down in his chair, as though it were the only place left in the morass of his feelings.
WALTER. What are you going to do?
JAMES. Have him in. Give me the cheque and the counterfoil.
COKESON. I don't understand. I thought young Davis——
JAMES. We shall see.
WALTER. One moment, father: have you thought it out?