(CARVE shrugs his shoulders.)

(Exit PASCOE, L. Door shuts off.)

(Re-enter CYRUS immediately after the door shuts.)

CARVE. (To himself.) Now for it! (To CYRUS). Well?

CYRUS. Well what?

CARVE. Recognize your cousin?

CYRUS. Of course a man of forty-five isn't like a boy of twelve, but I
think I may say I should have recognized him anywhere.

CARVE. (Taken aback.) Should you indeed. (A pause.) And so you're
Cyrus, the little boy that kicked and tried to bite in that historic
affray of thirty years ago.

CYRUS. Look here, I fancy you and I had better come to an understanding
at once. What salary did my cousin pay you for your remarkable services?

CARVE. What salary?

CYRUS. What salary?

CARVE. Eighty pounds a year.

CYRUS. When were you last paid?