Immediately the silvery screen vanishes; and in its place appears, in
reverse from right to left, another office similarly furnished, with a
thin, unamiable man similarly dressed, but in duller colors, turning
over some documents at the table. His gold fillet is hanging up on a
similar peg beside the door. He is rather like Conrad Barnabas, but
younger, and much more commonplace._
BURGE-LUBIN. Hallo, Barnabas!
BARNABAS [_without looking round_] What number?
BURGE-LUBIN. Five double x three two gamma. Burge-Lubin.
_Barnabas puts a plug in number five; turns his pointer to double x; and
another plug in 32; presses a button and looks round at Burge-Lubin, who
is now visible to him as well as audible._
BARNABAS [_curtly_] Oh! That you, President?
BURGE-LUBIN. Yes. They told me you wanted me to ring you up. Anything
wrong?
BARNABAS [_harsh and querulous_] I wish to make a protest.
BURGE-LUBIN [_good-humored and mocking_] What! Another protest! Whats
wrong now?
BARNABAS. If you only knew all the protests I havnt made, you would be
surprised at my patience.
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