eyebrows. His movements are rather slow and feeble, but his
eyes are very much alive. There is a glass of water by his
side. On his right sits his son EDGAR, an earnest-looking man
of thirty, reading a newspaper. Next him WANKLIN, a man with
jutting eyebrows, and silver-streaked light hair, is bending
over transfer papers. TENCH, the Secretary, a short and rather
humble, nervous man, with side whiskers, stands helping him. On
WANKLIN'S right sits UNDERWOOD, the Manager, a quiet man, with
along, stiff jaw, and steady eyes. Back to the fire is
SCANTLEBURY, a very large, pale, sleepy man, with grey hair,
rather bald. Between him and the Chairman are two empty chairs.
WILDER. [Who is lean, cadaverous, and complaining, with drooping
grey moustaches, stands before the fire.] I say, this fire's the
devil! Can I have a screen, Tench?
SCANTLEBURY. A screen, ah!
TENCH. Certainly, Mr. Wilder. [He looks at UNDERWOOD.] That is--