The same evening. The ante-room of the Assembly Hall—a dingy place, used on occasion as a dressing-room, and containing a small deal table and a few battered cane-bottomed chairs. Two gas-brackets project from the wall at the right and wire netting protects the lights. A door r. gives access and one c. up three stairs leads on to the platform. A rough hat-rack under the left gas-jet bears two ancient bowler hats and a cloth cap. Their owners are three members of the mens executive—Robert Jones, James Pullen and Joseph Livesey. Pullen, the owner of the cap, is smoking a clay pipe. He is a stoutish man of about forty, obviously no teetotaller, with a moustache and an obstinate jaw. Jones and Livesey, the leaders of the strike movement, are perhaps ten years his juniors and just a shade more educated in their accents. All are roughly dressed, but in their evening, not their working clothes. Livesey wearing a very much cut away black coat and a waistcoat adorned with a silver watch chain. Pullen has a scarf and no collar, but the other pair wear celluloid collars over cotton shirts. Pullen is sitting at the table sideways, r. Jones has his back to the fire, l. and Livesey is walking about above table.

PULLEN. What 'A says is this 'ere. Maister Thompson's a jolly good sort. Gives us 'af-day Thursday to play us in, with full brass an' all. 'And-some, A calls it, 'andsome. (He emphasizes by striking his fist on the table.)

JONES. Tha's a fule, Jim Pullen. Tha's allays drawin' red 'erring? across the trail. Tha makes me tired. 'Ere's a mate o' ours walks into th' 'oist same as it might be thee or me an' th' next minute 'e's gone to kingdom come. Thompson gives us an 'af-day off to attend th' buryin' if us wants to, an' theer's thou an' a few like thee ready to lick 'is boots because 'e's yeard us snarlin' an' chucked us a bone to shut our jaws on. Can't tha see 'is game?

LIVESEY (behind table). Oh, A'm noan sayin' nought about that. That were an accident like what might 'appen anywheers. It's th' whole system we want altered.

PULLEN. System is it? Aye, tha find me a system as'll give us more beer an' more easy time to sup it in an' A'm with thee.

LIVESEY. It's not so much for usselves as for our childer.

PULLEN (shuffling irritably). A'm noan wed. 'Ad more sense. If you young 'uns will marry, you mun tak' consequences.

LIVESEY (sitting behind table r. side). The kids! That's the point, Jones. We're ould.

PULLEN (contemptuously). Thee ould! Why, lad, tha were nobbut breeched t'other day.

LIVESEY (turning on him). Yes, we are—we're ould as life goes here. We're done. But th' kids have a reeght to summat better. We canna see our way out. We're nobbut a silly crowd o' fuies.

PULLEN (interposing). Tha are that.

LIVESEY (continuing). But if we could nobbut educate our childer. They'd find a way.

PULLEN. 'Ere, mister, my lad, what's tha gettin' at? The kids gets their schooling, don't they?

JONES. Aye, till they're legally ould enough to coom to work an' forget in a year all as they've 'ad shoved into their yeads in eight. (Spits in fire.) They've a reeght to a better chance than we 'ad an' we can't give it 'em. We're not paid enough. We're livin' on hope, an' hope's like ivy. It clings to ruins.

LIVESEY. That's good. Tha remember yon an' give it 'em in theer in thy speech. (Jerking his thumb towards the door c.)

JONES (going on as though speaking to a meeting). Th' bosses 'ave got us down and they're sitting on our yeads. It's about time we woke oop an' showed 'em the working man's not such a blamed fool as 'e looks.

LIVESEY. Aye. Now tha' talkin'.

JONES. We keep body an' soul together and that's the limit.

(Enter R. Job Alcott, another workman, quite roughly dressed and apparently of the most poorly paid class. He looks ill.)

ALCOTT. Good evening.

LIVESEY. Tha doesn't look so rosy to-neeght, lad. What's oop wi' thee?

ALCOTT (wearily, hanging his cap up, then sitting in chair R. by table). Oh, th' usual thing. You all know. Can't relish my food an' yeadache an' faint feelin'. Rum taste in my mouth, an' all.

LIVESEY. Aye. We all know that taste.

PULLEN. Beer's th' stuff to wash it out o' your mouth. (Crosses to fire and sits R. of it.)

ALCOTT. A saw doctor last neeght.

JONES. Aye. What's 'e say?

ALCOTT (bitterly). Tould me A'd no chance if A went on 'ere. Get soom fresh air for a month or two, 'e says. Get away out o' this into country, 'e says. Country! Likely isn't it? A'm a labourer. Ask off for a month, supposin' A'd got th' brass to keep me which A've not, an' A'll get sack sharp. They've only to send to the next big town an' a thousand poor chaps as is out o' collar 'ull coom trampin' out after my bloomin' eighteen bob a week an' be damned glad to get it an' all.

LIVESEY. Shame!

JONES. It's a cryin' shame. Why, look at me wi' eighteen bob a week same as him, an' the mouths A've got to fill. Ma missus as 'ad eleven of 'em in 'er time. A were wed at eighteen, A were.

PULLEN (quarrelsomely). Tha's never got eleven childer. Don't try to kid me.

JONES. Not livin', A haven't. Some of 'em's dead—thank God.

LIVESEY. Coom, draw it mild, lad. Yon's blasphemy.

JONES (sullenly). No, 'tisn't, neither. A do thank God for it. Poor little beggars, they're better dead nor alive an' starvin' wi' th' rest. A man can pull his belt oop a hole an' suck a pebble if he's hunger-mad. Th' kids can't do that.

LIVESEY. They wouldn't need if tha'd keep off the booze.

JONES (fiercely). A don't drink. A don't like beer. It turns my'stomach. (Up stage round R.)

PULLEN (rising disgustedly and walking away as if from a portent). Call thasel' a mon and don't like beer? (He turns to light his pipe at a gas, but fails to get it through the wire, mutters "Blast," and takes a match out and lights up.)

LIVESEY. Then what dost take It for.

JONES. What for? To mak' me forget. (Going down to sit l. of table.) A must forget soomtimes. A'd go crazed if A didn't forget. (Sitting.)

PULLEN (at the gas), Blast.

LIVESEY. It's a weary life.

ALCOTT (rising and going up c.) It's a hell. Damn Thompson. Damn him an' all that's hissen.

JONES (protestingly). Damn him, aye, but not all that's hissen. That means Miss Thompson, an' she's a blessed angel.

PULLEN (coming forward). Bah! Her an angel, her wi' her 'ard proud mug goin' about as if we was dirt at 'er feet.

JONES. Aye, an angel, lad. That's her; 'ard as nails she looks an proud as Lucifer but tha's not wed; tha's not seed yon wench sittin' i' thy kitchen nussin' thy kids. Maybe she's never sent thee fine grub when tha was sick.

PULLEN. A'm never sick.

JONES No, but she'd know if tha wert, an tha'd know she knowed it, an' all. Not as she maks a fuss about it It's all done quiet. A dunno if Thompson 'isself so much as knows a word about it. Alcott (l.c. at back). Aye, that's reeght. Sorry A cursed 'er. Theer were a two three bottles of champagne an' soom jelly an' stuff waitin to whoam for me last neeght when A get theer from docto? Not a word about who'd sent them, but——

PULLEN. Eh! 'Ere lads, A feels bad. Took sudden, some road.

LIVESEY. What's to do?

PULLEN. A dunno. Thowt o' that champagne, A reckon.

(Enter R. Mrs. Jones—a slight careworn woman of about thirty with pinched features and wears clogs, and a drab cloth skirt, blouse and a shawl over her head, all well worn. She crosses quickly to Jones shakes his should, violently, speaking in a shrill voice.)

MRS. JONES. Thee coom whoam, Bob Jones. Coom 'ome, A tell thee.

ALCOTT. Eh! missus, what's to do? Mrs Jones (turning on him). Thee shut tha ugly mug, and don't put thy spoke in atween man an wife. (To Jones.) Now then, art coomin.

JONES. What's oop wi' thee, lass?

MRS. JONES. Tha knows. A tould thee A'd coom an' fetch thee whoam if tha dared to shove tha nose in at meetin'. Strike indeed, tha great leatherhead! Wait till A get thee to whoam. A'll give thee strike.

LIVESEY. Leave 'im be, missus. Tha don't know what tha's talkin' about.

MRS. JONES. Don't A, ma lad? (Her arms go akimbo.) Maybe A knows more than the lot o' you put together. Ma faither were on strike onct when A were nobbut a young wench. A knows what strikes means. Strikes means clemmin', and ma childer shallna clem as A'd to clem then if A can 'elp it. Now, then, ar't coomin'?

JONES (rising). Leave be. This 'ere's not wimmen's business.

MRS. JONES. No, but it's a woman's business to see as 'er childer gets their baggin', an' it's a woman's business to sit an' watch 'em clem if theer's no baggin' to give 'em. It's you men as does th' silly things an' us women an' childer as pays for 'em. Thee coom whoam an' quit makkin' a fool o' thasel'. (Pulling Jones towards door.)

JONES. 'Ere, missus, see yon door? Well, get thasel' 't'other side o' it sharp. Tha's no reeght in 'ere at all.

MRS. JONES. A've the reeght o' a moother wi young bellies to fill. Tha coom whoam or tha'll get rough side o' ma tongue till tha'll wish tha'd never, bin born. Wait while A get hold o' yon Bunting chap, an' all. A'll give 'im strikes. What does 'e want wi' interferin' in other folk's business wantin' folks to strike—'im as 'as allays gone fed an' warm clothed an' doan't know what clemmin' means? A'll strike 'im, A will.

LIVESEY. Tha don't understand, Mrs. Jones.

JONES. Coom on now. Let's 'ave no more o' it. Outside.

MRS. JONES. A don't stir a foot.

JONES. Don't thee, by gum? (Picking her up.) It's all same to me which way tha goes. (Crossing to door r., carrying her struggling.)

MRS. JONES (as they go out). Wait till A get thee whoam, my lad. (He carries her out. For a moment the altercation continues off r.)

PULLEN. (coming forward and sitting below table l. side). Yon wench is reeght, tha knows. A'm not goin' to 'ave nought to do wi' it. Man an' boy, A've worked for Maister Thompson thirty year an' A'm noan goin' to turn again ma ouid maister at ma time o' life. A know ma place, A do.

LIVESEY. Oh, A've no patience wi' thee.

PULLEN. (Obstinately) It's all reeght, Mr. Livesey. None o' your strikes fur me. A can see through a ladder as clear as most. An' A'll tell thee summat as is mebbe news to thee. Theer's above a few as thinks along o' me, too, only they don't gas about it so loud as you.

LIVESEY. Very well, if theer are, theer'll be no strike. (Going up c. to door. Jones returns a little shamefacedly. The others avoid looking at him. He goes up to c.)

PULLEN. No. A 'll bet theer'll not.

LIVESEY. We'll soon see who's reeght.

JONES. Aye, coom on. Let's be startin' th' meetin'. (Crossing to door c.)

LIVESEY (consulting a silver watch). Wait a bit. Wheer's Mr. Bunting? We canna staryt wi'out 'im. Give us another five minutes. How's room? Open door theer and see.

JONES (opening door c. Confused murmur as of a crowd is heard through it). Pretty nigh packed. They'll noan thank us for bein' late.

LIVESEY. Close th' door.

(Jones closes the door and shuts off the sound, dropping R.C.)

LIVESEY. Tha'd best begin, Bob. A'll follow thee, an' Mr. Bunting can say 'is bit when A've done. Then we'll put it to the vote, strike or no strike.

PULLEN (sourly). Tha's no need to trouble. Theer'll be no strike.

LIVESEY. That remains to be seen. We'll give 'em every chance. No use startin' a strike wi'out weighin' things oop proper first. What'll tha say Bob?

JONES (takes notes from his pocket). This 'ere's what Mr. Bunting give me to say. A'm straight fur striking. Tha knows that.

ALCOTT. Aye.

PULLEN. Well, A say it's noan reeght, Joe Livesey. Tha's goin' to shoot th' mon first an' tell 'im why arterwards. Give 'im a chance. It's th' least us can do. 'E's a real good sort, is ould Thompson.

(Enter r. Clavering and Charlie. They put coats and hats on the rack R.)

CHARLIE. Good evening. Meeting not begun yet, I see.

JONES. We were nobbut waitin' on you, sir. (He looks at Clavering.)

CHARLIE. All right. I met the doctor on the doorstep and brought him along to say a few words.

LIVESEY (to Clavering). Glad to see you with us, sir.

CLAV. (nervously). Er—yes. I'd like to speak to Mr. Bunting first if you don't mind. Suppose you fellows go on to the platform and set the ball rolling. We'll follow.

JONES. All reeght. (A little awkwardly.) Tha'll noan be long wilta? We's none on us much at speakin' on our own, tha knows.

CHARLIE (reassuringly). Don't be afraid of me, I'll do the talking. If the men don't strike, it won't be my fault..

LIVESEY. That's the ticket. (Passing to door c.)

ALCOTT. Give it 'em hot, sir. (Following him.)

JONES. It will mean a lot coomin' from thee. (Following.)

CHARLIE. We'll do our best, both of us.

(Exeunt c. Livesey, Alcott and Jones. A burst of cheering is heard, then Jones closes the door.)

PULLEN. (following the others, stopping before Charlie) If this not above takin' a bit o' advice from me, Maister Banting, tha'll be careful what tha says about striking. Theer's me an' a good few others as 'ave put our yeads together, and we're gom to see as this business o' striking gets no forrader.

CHARLIE. (surprised). What's this? (Clavering paces about impatiently.)

PULLEN. We don't want no strike. If us wants brass, let's ask un for it fair an' straight. Striking's not th' square thing.

CHARLIE (roused and speaking passionately). Are you blind, man? Is Thompson straight with you. Do you expect a bloated bigwig of the British belly class to give you your rights before you force him into it? (Clavering makes a gesture of despair.) In the whole history of industrial employment have employers ever given employÉs their rights until they were forced to? (Clavering tries to cheek the stream in vain.) They tell you of humane legislation, of factory acts and sanitary regulations. Humane legislation! What was it but the capitalist ruling classes giving way inch by inch before the pressure of the masses?

(Clavering puts his hand on Charlie s shoulder. Pullen has been retreating step by step before the flow of eloquence and now stands cornered and unaole to escape in the left hand corner. Charlie swings round irritably on Clavering.)

CHARLIE. What's the matter?

CLAV. (soothingly). Yes, yes, yes, old man. Keep all that for in there. (Nodding at door c.) Don t waste it on the desert air of an ante-room. Let Pullen go. I want to talk to you.

PULLEN. Aye. Soom one 'ad best talk to 'im if 'e means to go on that gait in theer.

CLAV. (impatiently). Yes. All right, my man. Won't you go on to the platform now?

PULLEN. Aye. (Crossing.) A'm going. (He opens the door c. Livesey is heard speaking inside.)

LIVESEY (off, c., his back visible to audience as he stands speaking). Comrades, a strike is a terrible thing. Do not let us mak' light o' it. When we call on you to decide whether to strike or not——————- (With a gesture of disgust and a muttered "Yah," Pullen goes out c. and closes the door behind him.)

CHARLIE. Thank goodness they're not all that type—pig-headed, beery lout. Now, old man, I suppose you want to talk about our speeches. It's no good both saying the same thing. .

CLAV. There's no fear of my saying the same as you.

CHARLIE. Oh, I don't know. It's as well to have a plan. (Breaking off in a kind of exultation.) Oh, Clavering, Clavering, isn't it great? This is my night, my night of nights. Tell me I deserve it, old chap. Haven't I worked for it? It's been no joke to wake those fellows up from their lethargy, their ignorance, their ridiculous submission. But I did it, I alone. Oh, you've done something—the book—but you left me the men. That was what I wanted. They were mine. How I argued, wrestled, fought with them till they saw the truth, till I lighted up their dull intelligence and fanned the spark till it became the flame that this night's work shall cause to blaze and demolish! (Clavering stands in a noncommittal attitude, but Charlie does not note his detachment.) You mustn't grudge it me, Clavering. It's my night of triumph, the culminating point of all my efforts. I haven't a doubt in me. I'm so right, so utterly right. Nothing can stand before me now. They've tried to stop me—my father, Thompson—and they've failed. Truth must out. There must be justice at all costs, Clavering, at all costs. This is the dawn of a new era for Thompson's men. Congratulate me, my ally! Oh, but I don't want your help. It's kind of you to come, but tonight I need no aid. I'm strong. I could sweep them off their feet in there. But yes, you must come with me. Come, let us go. (Clutching Clavering as if to carry him bodily in.)

CLAV. (eluding him). Not yet.

CHARLIE (astonished). Why not?

CLAV. I cannot come with you.

CHARLIE. But why? We've the same ideas about these things.

CLAV. (significantly). We had.

CHARLIE (puzzled). We had? What do you mean?

CLAV. Don't be angry with me. I've been thinking over the thing and—well—things have been happening.

CHARLIE. You don't—no, it can't be true—I can't believe it. You! The book! (Realizing it.) Good God, he's bought you off.

CLAV. (firmly). The book's all right and I don't allow such language, Charlie.

CHARLIE (bitterly). I could have staked my life on your sincerity. I—I hope you got a good price for your silence, Dr. Clavering.

CLAV. Don't be a fool. I tell you I'm not going to be silent. The book will appear right enough, and there'll be a note in it to say that the respirator's in use at Thompson's works.

CHARLIE (staggered). What!

CLAV. Yes. Come, now, haven't we got what we wanted? Isn't it worth while to be bribed?

CHARLIE (recovering himself). Not by that man.

CLAV. Oh, you're an extremist. (Crossing over to fire.)

CHARLIE. Yes, where Thompson's concerned I am. (By door c.)

CLAV. Well, I'm not. His way's only relatively bad and if he adopts the respirator—

CHARLIE (interrupting). His way is the way of the slave-driver. He trades in the lives of men.

CLAV. Oh, rot, man. You're drunk with words.

CHARLIE (laughing bitterly). You're defending your last ditch now. You can't refute me; you can only revile, and the average coalheaver could give you points at that.

CLAV. That doesn't get us much further.

CHARLIE. Well, it doesn't matter much. After all, you're only one more against me, and I'm not afraid. Nothing can stand in my path to-night. I didn't feel the need for you. I can do without your speaking, Dr. Clavering.

CLAV. Oh, I'm going to speak. Mr. Thompson asked me to speak.

CHARLIE. (Controlling himself visibly). What are you going to say?

CLAV. I've to tell them I'm appointed medical officer at the works. That means free doctoring for the men. (Cynically.) They didn't often pay me anyhow, but it's officially free now instead of being a private benevolence of mine.

CHARLIE. Yes, he's bought you by the respirator and made you his creature by offering you a salary; (Bitterly.) And I thought you were an honest man!

CLAV. (quietly). I've got to look after myself like everybody else.

(Enter John r., palpably agitated and panting.)

JOHN (seeing Charlie). Thank God I'm in time.

CHARLIE (coldly). In time for what?

JOHN. To stop you. You've not spoken yet, have you?

CHARLIE. No, but you'll not stop me.

JOHN. Dr. Clavering, tell him he mustn't. You're his friend, he'll listen to you. Won't you help me to stop this folly?

CLAV. I can't, Mr. Bunting. You can't cork up Niagara.

JOHN (distractedly). Charlie, remember what this means to me. Jabez will have no mercy if you incite his men to rebel against him. Think of your father, my boy.

(Clavering with a shrug strolls to the hack and stands aloof.)

CHARLIE. I can't betray my principles even to save you, whatever other people can do when it suits their interests. (With a backward glance at Clavering, who smiles cynically.)

JOHN (pitiably). You're throwing away my life. I can't face the disgrace, Charlie.

CHARLIE (firmly). Nevertheless, I must speak. (Going up l.c. by c. doors.)

JOHN. For mercy's sake, be reasonable.

CHARLIE (Hotly) Reasonable! What do you mean by "reasonable"? That I should put your petty pride before the health and wellbeing of scores of men and women. No, father, I can't be "reasonable." I've nailed my colours to the mast and I shall speak—speak as I've never spoken yet, speak with all my heart and soul. I've to fight Thompson in there, Thompson and his renegade, this turncoat, Clavering, and I shall fight to win. Right is with me and I'm not afraid to fight without the gloves. (He goes off c. in a kind of frenzied exultation. A burst of cheering greets him cut off by his closing the door.)

CLAV. (sneeringly). Melodramatic ass!

JOHN (sinking into a chair r. of table, and burying his face in his hands on the table). What shall I do? What shall I do?

CLAV. Umph! It's a pity he's too big an infant to have some sense whipped into him, Mr. Bunting.

JOHN. Don't mock an old man's ruin.

(Enter r. Rose and then Jabez.)

JABEZ (briskly). Oh, here you are, Clavering. Sit down, Rosie. Dirty hole it is. I can't think why on earth you insisted on coming here. (Clavering dusts a chair R. with his hand and places it for her.)

ROSIE. Thanks. (To Jabez.) Of course I came. I couldn't stay away. I had to know what happened, and I knew you'd never tell me. (Jabez snorts and looks round, seeing John, who had again sunk his face wrapt up in his misery. Clavering shuts the door which Jabez had left open. John rises and approaches Jabez appealingly. Jabez sees him with surprise.)

JABEZ. Hullo, John.

JOHN (rising). Jabez, for pity's sake.

JABEZ (impatiently). Oh, I've no time to waste now, John, (John goes l. and leans head on mantelpiece.) I'll see you later. (To Clavering). I suppose Charlie's on his hind legs by now? (Up to c. doors.)

CLAV. Yes. That's the platform entrance. (He crosses to it.)

JABEZ. Wait a bit. Don't go yet. (Clavering stops.) Open the door and let's listen to him. (Clavering opens doors, disclosing Charlie's hack as he stands speaking on platform.)

CHARLIE (off, c.). Your trade's dangerous. You don't make old bones. If you're not poisoned by fumes at forty, you're chucked on the scrap heap because you're no longer strong enough to work. Don't you deserve some compensation when you risk your lives every day you work, when you're only fit to work while you're young? Life is a handicap where the weakest starts at scratch and the devil takes the hindmost. (Cheers. Clavering makes a questioning gesture.)

JABEZ. No. Hear him out. (Clavering nods, still holding the door open.)

CHARLIE (off, c.). You're not dogs. You're men. (Cheers.) You want decent homes and a bit of pleasure in life and something to put by for the time when you can't work! How are you going to do it?

LIVESEY (off, c.). Demand higher wages. Strike! (Cries off of "Strike," "More wages," "Vote.")

JABEZ (motioning Clavering). That'll do, Clavering. (Clavering shuts the door and comes down stairs.)

JOHN (putting out his hand in timid appeal). Jabez!

JABEZ (impatiently). Well, what is it?

JOHN. Don't be hard on me, Jabez. I've tried to stop him. I've done my best, indeed I have.

JABEZ (impatiently). Oh, I've no time to waste now, John. Anyhow you'd better come in yonder with me. It'll show 'em you're not of the same mind as Charlie.

JOHN (eagerly). Anything, Jabez. I'll do anything if you won't throw me over.

JABEZ. Well, we'll see about that later. Come along.

(Exit Jabez c., John following. Slight murmurs and hoots. Clavering goes up the stairs, hesitates, then closes the door and turns, looking at Rosie.)

CLAV. Miss Thompson!

ROSIE (coldly, looking up). Did you speak to me, Dr. Clavering?

CLAV. (smilingly). Yes. Mayn't I? (Coming forward.)

ROSIE (huffily). You can speak if you like. I don't undertake to reply.

CLAV. I'm sorry if I've offended you. Won't you tell me why?

ROSIE. You've treated Mr. Bunting very shabbily, and I really don't wish to hear another word from you.

CLAV. Oh, don't say that. I've tried so often to get a chance of speaking to you alone. I've hungered for it, but it never came. Your radiant health stood in the way of even a professional visit. I found an excuse to come last night.

ROSIE. So Alcott's illness was only an excuse. Isn't he ill?

CLAV. Of course he's ill. What does Alcott matter? He's only one more ground up in the mill—and your father sent you from the room because I broke his absurd rule of mentioning a works affair in your presence. I knew the rule, and I risked his displeasure on the chance of seeing you alone to plead my cause.

ROSIE. Your cause was Alcott, wasn't it?

CLAV. My cause was myself. You've not forgotten, have you, what I asked you once before, how I came to you two years ago——?

ROSIE. What do you mean? I think it is you who forget. Must I remind you that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Bunting? (Clavering gets chair r. of table and sits facing Rosie.)

CLAV. Of course I know that nominally you are engaged to him. (Rosie tries to interrupt in vain.) I know how it all happened—an old standing idea between your father and his. But really, really, these family arrangements are out of date. I tell you, Miss Thompson, if I could think for one moment that you were satisfied to marry Charlie, I'd pluck my tongue out rather than speak to you like this. I won't believe it. It's an "arrangement" which suits neither of you. Charlie kicks openly against the pricks. Your splendid loyalty makes you submit in silence. Loyalty and submission have their uses, but you must never let this relic of bygone days survive to wreck our happiness.

ROSIE. Our happiness!

CLAV. Oh, if you want proof of my devotion, haven't I given it to you? I kept my bond. I've let you know of all illness amongst your father's hands, and I've seen that no word of your ministrations reached his ear. You mustn't think of Charlie. He's an inconsequential wobbler. Oh! he sees what he wants all right, but his only idea of getting it is to bash at everything in his way with a battering ram. He can't finesse.

ROSIE. No. I think that's rather fine of him myself.

CLAV. Fine! What good's he done? See what I've done already without your help. The respirator's going to be used and the men get free doctoring. I've done that. I alone. Charlie's only talked about it. Think how much more I could do for the men if I had the help of your influence with your father, if I were—your husband.

ROSIE (rising. Clavering rises). Dr. Clavering, before I was engaged to Charlie you asked me to marry you. You remember my answer?

CLAV. Yes, but circumstances have changed. Rosie. Yes, they've changed. Your proposal then was an honourable one, for I was free to choose, and I refused you gently, hoping to spare you pain. To-day my answer is the same, with this addition, that were I free to choose as I was then, I should choose an honest man, a man who couldn't "finesse".

(Enter John, c. Shouts and clapping heard. Jabez' back seen as he stands speaking.)

CLAV. (recovering himself with an effort). Well, Mr. Bunting, how are things going in there?

JOHN. Listen. Jabez is speaking now.

JABEZ (off c. speaking in a genial way). It is like this, lads. I always like to think of myself as the father of my men. I'm proud of you fellows. The way you back me up when the spying factory inspectors come round is a thing any man would be proud of....

PULLEN (off). We're glad to do it for you, sir. (Clavering whistles softly and looks at Rosie, who avoids his eye.)

JABEZ (off). We're just a big family, and I'd like to think we're a happy-one. But in a big family there's bound to be some selfish lad who's discontented and tries to make others discontented. I'll name no names.

CLAV. (Softly) That's one for Master Charlie.

JABEZ (Off) I tell you I'm a sight poorer in yon hall than you fellows in your cosy cottages. You think you'd like to change places with me. I wish some of you could, and see how you'd like the responsibility of finding work to keep the shop going for a week or two. Damn it, lads, I'm a raven. I know that as well as you do, but I've got to dress up in peacock's feathers and pretend. I'm no end of a swell for your sakes. It's all bluff—it's the way business is done nowadays. Appearances count.

(Cries off of "That's right, that's right." "Good old Thompson!" "Go on." He proceeds with a threat in his voice.)

Many a time I've been that worried over getting in the orders I've had half a mind to shut up shop. Don't drive me too far or I'll do it. Where 'ud you be then? There's enough working men walking the streets. How 'ud you fellows like to join 'em? I know it's not an easy life. (Plaintively.) I'm doing my level best to make it easier. Only to-day I've arranged with Dr. Clavering——

CLAV. That's my cue. I'd better show up.

JABEZ (continuing). To give him an appointment as medical officer to my works. You'll get free doctoring. (Clavering goes out c. quickly, closing the door.)

JOHN (looking at Rosie appealingly). Rosie!

ROSIE. Yes, Mr. Bunting? (Rises.)

JOHN (pitifully). Don't let him be hard on me, my dear. I've done my best. If only you will speak to him. You can always have your way with your father. (He puts out his hands appealingly.)

ROSIE (taking his hand in hers and patting it as if soothing a frightened child). Don't be afraid. Do you think I'd let you two old gentlemen quarrel about nothing? Charlie's father and mine must always be good friends.

JOHN (relieved and almost tearful). Oh, my dear! (Distressed again). But Charlie———(He breaks off.)

ROSIE (encouragingly). Yes?

JOHN. You're not going to marry him after what's happened.

ROSIE. Why, of course I am.

JOHN (bewildered). But—I don't know anything—I thought he'd——

ROSIE (soothingly). Never mind, Mr. Bunting. I promise you father shan't be nasty to you.

JOHN (pressing her hand.) Bless you, my dear, bless you. You don't know what that means to me. (He goes out r., blunderingly. The murmur of great applause comes from c. Rosie looks off c. expectantly. The door opens and the sound increases. Enter Jabez visibly glowing with heat and triumph, Clavering all smiles, and a little behind Charlie, very much dejected. The door remains open and the sound dies down gradually.)

JABEZ. Thanks, Clavering. You did that very neatly.

CLAV. (obsequiously). You'd done the trick before I opened my mouth, sir. (Charlie goes to the back with the evident intention of effacing himself.)

JABEZ (briskly). Well, nothing to stay here for. We'd better be going, Rosie.

CLAV. It's all over but the shouting. (A cry heard off—"Douse 'un in th' 'orse-trough.")

JABEZ (skarply). What's that?

(Enter Pullen c.)

CLAV. Some of the shouting.

PULLEN. There's going to be no strike, sir.

JABEZ. Of course not. There never was the least chance of it. (Charlie stands near door r.)

PULLEN (scratching his head). A dunno about that. A thowt it a pretty near thing at one time afore tha coom in.

JABEZ (confidently). Rubbish, man. Mere talk. Never deceived me for a moment.

(Enter c. Livesey, Jones and Alcott. They look sidelong at Jabez and slink behind to their hats. Livesey goes to Charlie.)

LIVESEY. They're talking yonder o' dousing thee in 'th 'orse-trough, Mr. Bunting. Tha'd best be off whoam sharp. (Gets his cap, r.)

ALCOTT. Aye, theer's none on us lot finished oop what tha might call 'ot favourites.

JABEZ (turning). Oh, Livesey, that you? Shake hands. No malice, I hope? (Livesey puts out his hand shyly, Jabez shakes it cordially, shaking after with Jones and Alcott, the latter of whom rubs his hand first on his trouser leg.) Good night, lads. (Charlie sits r. dejectedly.)

JONES. Good night, sir. (They go out r.)

ALCOTT. (Then comes to Jabez with hand extended. Jabez off-handedly, dismissing him).

JABEZ. Good night, Pullen.

PULLEN (drawing back disappointedly on seeing he is not to shake hands). Good night, sir.

(Exit Pullen r.)

JABEZ (to Clavering). There'll be no more trouble with those fellows. They know they're marked men now.

CLAV. (flatteringly). You do know how to manage them, sir.

JABEZ. It's cheap at a handshake. You might cut along after them and talk to the men as they come out. See what I mean? (Walking with Clavering to the door r.). We can't make too sure of a thing. (Clavering nods and goes out r., lifting coat and hat from rack r. as he goes. Jabez turns and sees Charlie.) Well, Charlie, not sulking, are you? (Claps Charlie on the shoulder.)

CHARLIE (rises). You'd no right to speak, Mr. Thompson. It was my meeting, not yours.

JABEZ. Oh come, Charlie. All's fair in love and war. You can't tell me I didn't give you your chance. You'd done before I went in. Come, shake hands and be friends. You're fairly beaten. Take your gruel like a man.

CHARLIE (Jerking his head up). Yes, I'm beaten this time. But it won't be so always, and you needn't think it will. Ingrained conservatism and a silly tradition of loyalty have won for you this time. You've bamboozled the majority to-night; but to-night's majority is the minority of to-morrow.

JABEZ. Look here, Charlie. Take an old man's advice and give it up. You've had your fling with the men and a pretty hash you've made of it.

CHARLIE. Oh, I'm giving it up all right. You needn't worry about that. I'm going away.

ROSIE (involuntarily). Going away! (She makes a slight move forward.)

JABEZ. Where?

CHARLIE (ignoring Rosie—to Jabez). Oh, I don't know. I'm clearing out of this. I haven't thought where. What does that matter?

ROSIE. But why, Charlie?

JABEZ. Oh, that's as plain as the nose on his face. (To Charlie.) You're frightened of the men. You've been taught to-night that your second-hand, second-rate ideas may look very pretty in a book, but they won't wash in real life, and instead of facing it like a man and staying here to live this down, you can think of nothing better than running away.

CHARLIE. If you're going to insult me by telling me I'm afraid of a few fools whose only idea of argument is physical force, I'd better say good night. (Turning as if to go r.)

JABEZ. You think you've done something fine, don't you? (r.c.) I shouldn't wondor if you consider yourself quite a hero, eh, Charlie?

CHARLIE. No. (Crossing to Jabez.) I'm a man looking for a job.

JABEZ. You won't keep it long if you can't learn to mind your own business.

CHARLIE. My business is Chemical Research. It was you who wanted me to leave it and mix myself up with other matters.

JABEZ. I wanted you to be a rational member of society, sir, not a damned labour agitator and a failure at that. You boasted you could sway a mob. Sway a mob! Why, man, you couldn't sway a child. You don't know the A.B.C. of public speaking.

CHARLIE. Oh, you've a right to boast. Vae Victis.

JABEZ. Yes, vanquished on your own ground, Charlie. You said you'd speak, and you've spoken. A fat lot better off you are too. Now look here, Charlie, you're a young fool, but I've alwrays been fond of you, and I'm ready to take a lenient view of this.

CHARLIE (r.c.). Lenient view!

JABEZ. Yes... I've tumbled to what your silly twaddle really is. You've simply been sowing your wild oats like any other young fellow, only it wouldn't be you if you did things like other people. Most fellows do it over cards or a woman or a lot of women. You've done it over my workmen. And the point is, the point is that you have sown them, that it's done with, ended for good and all————(Charlie turns to speak.) Confound you, don't interrupt. You've had your innings, now it's my turn. You're going to drop your cursed—what's it called?—altruism—and you'll settle down cosily and comfortably with Rosie. That's your programme, my boy.

CHARLIE. To be not only a fool myself, but a breeder of fools! (Rosie turns to fire.) It's no good, Mr. Thompson. I tell you I am going away. I must slip the cable if I'm to have any respect for myself after to-night's work. (Going p. to coat rack.)

ROSIE (turning, quietly). Father, how long is it since you had a cigar?

JABEZ. I don't know.

ROSIE. I am sure it's time you had another. (Jabez takes case out.)

JABEZ. Thank you, my dear.

ROSIE (apparently shocked). Oh, but you mustn't smoke here. Go to the air and smoke your cigar on the step till I come. (Gently manoeuvring him towards the dao? r.)

JABEZ (going reluclantly) But what are you going to do?

ROSIE. It will be all right. You see, this isn't a works' affair any longer, is it?

JABEZ. No. I suppose it isn't.

ROSIE. So it's quite right for mc to speak to Charlie now. I shan't be long. (Jabez goes out r., his bearing indicating that he does so under proest. Rosie closes the door behind him and faces Charlie.)

ROSIE. Now, Charlie!

CHARLIE (trying to escape). I must be going. Good night, Miss Thompson, and good-by. (Holding his hand out.)

ROSIE (ignoring the hand standing with her back to the door she has just closed.) Don't be silly, Charlie.

CHARLIE. There's another door, you know. (Looking c.)

ROSIE. The main entrance will be locked long since.

CHARLIE (accepting the situation.) What do you want with me?

ROSIE (coming forward from the door and speaking softly.) I want to help you.

CHARLIE. I don't want your help. I want to be alone. Can't you understand my wanting to crawl away and hide? Won't you let me go?

ROSIE (sympathetically). I want to help you.

CHARLIE. Your father's right, Rosie. I've made a hash of things. There's nothing left for me to do here now. I've shot my bolt.

ROSIE. What do you propose to do?

Chaelie (irritably). Oh, I don't know yet. Go on living, I suppose. I shan't starve. I'm a qualified chemist. That's worth something anywhere. (Sitting l.c. on corner oj table.)

ROSIE. You're worth more here.

CHARLIE. Here! I can never hold my head up again after to-night. You don't understand what it is I've tried to do.

ROSIE. I understand very well, and I don't quarrel with what you wished to do, but you've gone about it in the wrong way. You were wrong, utterly wrong, in talking to my father as you did. What made you do it?

CHARLIE. I only told him the truth.

ROSIE. The truth! Don't you know that there are times when it's criminal to tell the truth?

CHARLIE. Never!

ROSIE. You won't persuade a man like my father to see the error of his ways by blurting out a bundle of unpleasant truths. You're a reformer in a hurry. You won't realize that his convictions are just as strong as yours and that he is too old to alter.

CHARLIE (With some slight return of spirit) And I'm too young to alter. We've got beyond the point when wisdom was regarded as the monopoly of senile decay. I won't turn back. (Rising from table and going l.)

ROSIE. My dear boy, I don't ask you to. I only ask you to advance intelligently, (over to Charlie, l.) to understand that the odds against you are too great for you to fight single-handed.

CHARLIE (gloomily). You're quite right. I'm a broken gambler. I'm bankrupt for this fight now—bankrupt with no assets. Your father's got them all.

ROSIE. No, Charlie, not all. You've one asset that he'd give half his wealth to have.

CHARLIE. I have? What's that?

ROSIE. You've youth. You can afford to wait. You mustn't throw up the sponge and fly at a first reverse.

CHARLIE. It seems so hopeless to try to do anything here. I thought I'd got hold of the men. Tonight's work has settled all that. I shall never recover my influence. I don't know—of course one never does—but there might be some place in the world where I could be of use. There's just a chance, and I want to try again—to redeem all this. These things mean so much to me—more than anything else in the world. Suffering—poverty—I see them so clearly. Whenever I think of other things, things I desire, my own personal wishes—they get in the way.

ROSIE. And are you alone blessed with eyesight? Do you think me blind? Do you combine your modern socialism with a mediaeval conception of women? Charlie, if the men's condition has been an obsession with you, with me it's been the passion of a lifetime. It's gone near to wrecking my life.

CHARLIE (involuntarily). How?

ROSIE. Because I needed help and I sought an instrument. A woman's handicapped. I can do a lot with my father, but I never dared to interfere openly at the works. That was his territory, and I knew he'd stand no petticoat government there. I wanted a man's help. I wanted you.

CHARLIE. Why didn't you tell me this before? We could have done so much?

ROSIE. Charlie, do you realize that I'd to live with my father? You had your differences with him, but at any rate they were confined to business hours. For me, there was no escape. I lived under the same roof with him, so I'd to do my good by stealth unknown to him.

CHARLIE. But why keep it from me?

ROSIE (pityingly). My dear boy!

CHARLIE. Well?

ROSIE. You, with your passion for the truth!

CHARLIE (a little hotly). Do you object to that?

ROSIE. I like it. But it made it impossible for me to tell you this before.

CHARLIE. Why? (Pause.)

ROSIE. Charlie, if I had told you, would you have kept it to yourself?

CHARLIE. Why should I do that?

ROSIE. Exactly. Sooner or later you'd have blurted it all out to my father, and I could have done no more good, no more little charities, no more small alleviations. What sort of a life do you suppose I should have had if he'd learnt that I had broken through his rule, that I was doing all I could to soften his harsh management and to make things easier for his pecple when they fell ill?

CHARLIE. You've been doing that? How little I knew you!

ROSIE. It wasn't much, but I did what I could.

CHARLIE. What a sweep I've been!

ROSIE. You're going to stay?

CHARLIE. Yes, I'm going to stay. I've been a fool. I thought I hadn't time for marriage. I thought a wife would be a drag. I—I thought myself a tower of strength.

ROSIE (smiling). It had to be, Charlie. A poet always marries a cook.

CHARLIE. You mustn't talk like that. I'm not fit for you. I've played with you. I thought of you as Thompson's daughter, content with him and all he stands for. And all the time I wanted you, wanted you horribly. Only that stood in the way. I loved you while I tried to hate you for what I thought you were. I know you better now. You're going to help me. That's kind, that's generous of you. I need you so much, Rosie.

ROSIE. I'm ready now, father.

JABEZ. About time, too.

ROSIE. Charlie's coming home with us father.

JABEZ. But the men are all outside, they'll all see,

ROSIE. Why shouldn't they? Have you forgotten that we're going to be married on April 25? Come along, Charlie. (She takes his arm and urges him to door. Jabez stares aghast, then follows Charlie's hat and coat.)

CURTAIN.