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in to a newspaper of a death, if someone there is in a hurry and just hears the last name, he might grab the obituary that's already written on someone like your brother James, as prominent as your brother James, they keep one written and up to date against the day…
    —But James isn't dead! he's just away…
    —Abroad, accepting some sort of award.
    —Yes, yes in fact, I think if you'll read that clipping…
    —That seems to be about all James does now, going about to accept awards.
    —It's not as though he didn't deserve them, Julia. Don't give Mister Cohen the wrong idea, there's no telling the stories he'll carry back with him.
    —I… ladies I assure you, all I wish to carry back is this waiver with your nephew's signature. Since your brothers were not, ahm, especially close, and the decedent died intestate, the cooperation of the survivors is …
    —You make us sound like a shipwreck, Mister Cohen.
    —Well now that you speak of it, Miss Bast…
    —I think I know what he's trying to say. He's going to drag up those old stories about James and Thomas not getting on.
    —I don't think he could sit there and name two brothers who went out of their way for one another as often as James and Thomas did. Neither of them had a single job that the other didn't claim to have got for him.
    —The Russian Symphony…
    —And Sousa's Band? Of course there was a certain competitive spirit between the boys. No one denies that, Mister Cohen. We had a family orchestra, you know, and they practiced three and four hours a day.
    Every week Father gave a dime to the one who showed the most improvement. From the time they were six, until they left home…
    —Yes, Julia played the … where are you going now, Mister Cohen? If

    you'll just sit still for a minute, I'm sure we can find some black thread. I can sew that button back on while we're chatting.
    —While I wait to talk with your nephew Edward…
    —Whatever that paper is you've brought there, I don't think he'll be in any hurry to sign it.
    —Yes, I remember Father telling us to never sign anything we didn't read carefully.
    —But… ladies! I want him to read it, I urge him to read it. I urge you to read it! It's only a few lines, the merest formality, a waiver to permit the appointment of the decedent's daughter, one Stella, Mrs Angel, as administrator of her father's estate, so that we may submit to the court…
    —Mister Cohen, you distinctly said that you hoped to keep us all out of court. Didn't you hear him say that, Anne?
    —Yes, I certainly did. And I'm not at all sure what James will say about these goings on.
    —James has a great instinct for justice, Mister Cohen, and in spite of his being a composer he knows more than a little about the law. If we're all obliged to end up in court in order to settle what's right and wrong here…
    —Madam, Miss Bast, please I… I implore you, there is no such issue at stake, and there is no reason there ever should be. The law, Miss Bast, let me tell you, the law…
    —Do be careful of that lamp, Mister Cohen.
    —There's no question of justice, or right and wrong. The law seeks order, Miss Bast. Order!
    —Now Mister Cohen, if you'll just sit still. I've found some black thread right here in the basket.
    —And an agreement within a legal framework is made for the protection of all concerned. Now…
    —Perhaps you would like to take off your jacket. I'm just afraid you will spill those papers.
    —Yes. Thank you. No. Now…
    —It's carpet thread, and should hold quite well. It will probably outlast the suit itself.
    —Let me assure you that signing this waiver will not in any way affect any claim your nephew may have upon the estate of the decedent. But because of his somewhat equivocal position…
    —I got it for Father's overcoat buttons. It always outlasted the coats themselves.
    —I don't know what you're inferring, Mister Cohen, but…
    —This is as I understand it, Miss Bast, your nephew Edward's position