(Six months later. Interior of Barlow's house at night. Doors on each side of the roomy window, covered by drawn chintz curtains at the back. Dark panelled walls. Polished oak floor with squares of carpet, dark mahogany furniture, square table. Centre with four chairs, chairs by fireplace and under window; right, basket-grate with high steel fender and hand-irons. Bright fire.)

(Ruth, her whole appearance suggesting physical wellbeings sits by fire reading by the light of four candles on table. She is well dressed in sober colours. A manservant opens door and Mary enters, dressed as Act I, with a heavy cloak, mittens, etc., suggesting winter. The servant goes, closing the door.)

RUTH (rising). Well, mother.

MARY (kissing her). You're warm in here.

RUTH. We need to be.

MARY. It's bitter cold to-night.

(Ruth pulls chair from table and sits, putting Mary in her own chair. Mary looks scornfully at the book placed on table.) Reading, were you? Well, one way of idling's as bad as another and reading never did anybody good that ever I heard of. That's what your father's always doing with his spare time now. Tom Paine's Rights of Man and The Age of Reason. Stuffing his old head with all manner of new-fangled politics.

RUTH. But this isn't politics, mother. It's poetry. (Mary sniffs.) The Corsair. Lord Byron's poem.

MARY. I've heard of him and nothing good neither.

RUTH. Nothing good! Why, mother, he——

MARY. A lot of things, I dare say. Well, I've gone for fifty years without the power of reading and I reckon I'll go through without it to the end. I've no time to be idle.

RUTH. I've no time to be anything else.

MARY. You've taken to being a lady like a duck to water. Lazybones is the name I'd give you if you were still Ruth Butterworth, but I suppose this vain life is right for Mrs. Guy Barlow.

RUTH (rising). It isn't right. Idleness is never right, and least of all for me, because I know my idleness is paid for by the toil of others. Something has changed me, mother. I can't think of the past. I've forgotten what I was and what I used to think. I had ideals then, when I was poor. I'd noble thoughts of my own. The only thoughts I have to-day are thoughts of other's thinking. (Picking Byron up.) You're right, I'm lazy. Bone lazy, and I like it. I like fine clothes and soft living and hands that aren't work-roughened.

MARY. Small blame to you for that. I'd do the same myself.

RUTH. I'm getting fat. I'm like a pig. I never want to go out. The house is soft and warm and comfortable, and the sights I see outside are hard and cold and comfortless.

MARY. You may well say that. Things go from bad to worse, With wages down and food up it's near impossible to make ends meet. And that's for us, with your father an overlooker. What it is for the weavers, I don't know. There's empty hearths and empty bellies this winter time.

RUTH. I know. I know and I don't care. I used to care. Something's gone dead inside me, killed by the comfort and the ease and the good living and all the things I used to hate and despise until I had them for my own.

MARY. Eh, don't you worry! When a lass has got a good husband same as you have it's little room she has in her mind for thoughts of other things.

RUTH. That's my punishment. Guy's good to me. (Changing tone.) Mother, I'll tell you something. I love my husband.

MARY (puzzled). Well, don't tell me that as if it was news to me. What did you marry him for if you didn't love him?

RUTH. I married him to use him for an instrument. And I don't care now for the things I cared for then. I only care for Guy, and what Guy does is right because he does it.

MARY. Well, I never let your father come over me like that. But there's many wives do think that road of their husbands, especially young wives. I'm a bit surprised at you being one of them for all that, Ruth. You'd always a will of your own.

RUTH. My will's asleep.

MARY. Don't let it waken up too sudden.

RUTH. No fear of that. I eat too much.

MARY. There's a-many eat too little, Ruth. There was one you used to know came in to us the other night. He'd been short of food for weeks and looked it too, poor lad.

RUTH. A friend of mine? What friend?

MARY (reluctantly). Martin Kelsall, if you want to know. There was him and others. Friends of the People they call themselves, and your father's joined them now. I never heard such talk in my life. Proper wild it was. Drilling on the moors, and knocking out the engine boiler plugs and breaking the machinery and I don't know what.

RUTH. And father, too?

MARY. As savage as the worst of them, the silly old man. Got to threats before they'd done.

RUTH. Threats?

MARY. Against your Guy. It's him they're bitterest against.

RUTH (indignantly). What's Guy done?

MARY. You'd think there was nothing he hadn't done. You'd better tell him to be careful about going out at night. They've guns amongst them.

RUTH. Guns!

MARY. Oh, don't be frightened, lass. They won't do owt. Men like to talk. I don't take any notice of them. If they said less I'd fear them more.

RUTH. Has Martin Kelsall got a gun?

MARY (contemptuously). Him! It's bread he wants, not a gun. Gave me a message for you, Martin did.

RUTH. A message?

MARY. "Tell her to remember me," he says.

RUTH. I understand. What must he think of me?

MARY. What right has he to think of you at all? Impudence I call it.

RUTH. He has the right to think me traitor. I'm a renegade. I'm——

MARY. You're Mrs. Guy Barlow, my lass, and don't you forget it and start thinking of a famished weaver chap without a shirt to his back or a mouthful of bread for his belly.

RUTH. Is it as bad as that?

MARY. It's hard times, Ruth, harder every day.

RUTH. The men must be desperate.

MARY. They talk as if they were. But what's talking? They talked before you wed. They're talking still and I tell you things are worse.

RUTH. What's made them worse?

MARY. They say Guy has.

RUTH. But how?

MARY. You'd better ask him. Don't you talk to him of the factory?

RUTH. No. I tried to do at first, but he stopped me, and I thought I'd bide my time.

MARY. You've a lot more sense than I ever gave you credit for.

RUTH. Then I fell in love with Guy and I haven't cared for anything since that.

MARY. I don't suppose you'd do a scrap of good. (Rising as if to go.) Well, that's how it is. A terrible lot of barking, but not a bite amongst the lot of them.

RUTH (detaining her). But there is danger there, danger to Guy.

MARY. I tell you they, don't mean it.

RUTH. Perhaps all don't. But one man might, and one would be enough. One man can press a trigger.

MARY. There now! I've upset you.

RUTH. Never mind that. You're sure that's all!

MARY. All what?

RUTH. All Martin said.

MARY. You've got that fellow on the brain. No. 'Twasn't all, then. He wants to meet you.

RUTH. Tell him I will.

MARY. I'll tell him no such thing, and you a married woman.

RUTH. You'll tell him I will see him. Not here, though. He mustn't come here.

MARY. And I'll not have my house put to such a use. So that settles it.

RUTH. There is an old quarry on the moors. Martin knows. It's where the stone was quarried when they built the factory. I'll meet him there to-morrow night at eight. Will you tell him that, or must I write?

MARY. Can Martin read?

RUTH. I'm not sure. Tell him, mother.

MARY. It isn't right, but——

RUTH. You will. I'm doing this for Guy. You've stirred me from my sleep at last. To-morrow night at eight. Mary. Well, I'll tell him.

RUTH. That's right. There's Guy's step now.

MARY. Then I'll be going. God bless you, lass. ( Kissing her.)

(Enter Guy.)

GUY (to Mary). Good evening.

MARY (apologetically). I was just going, sir.

GUY (warming himself by fire, speaking over his shoulder). Oh, don't hurry away. You'll find it cold outside.

MARY. I must go sharp. If you're here it means factory's loosed and Matt'll be at home looking for his supper. Good night, sir.

(Exit Mary. Guy goes to Ruth with lover-like attitude. They are on the best of terms.)

GUY. Well, little wife, how goes it?

RUTH (tensely). Guy, I want to talk to you.

GUY (sitting by fire, lightly). The sound of your voice is the sweetest thing on earth. I'm all attention.

RUTH. This is serious, Guy. I've tried before to talk to you about the factory. You stopped me then.

GUY (still lightly). Of course I did. I won't have you worrying your pretty head about the factory. Besides, think of your long-suffering husband. Don't you think I get all the business I can stand across the way there? (Waving hand towards window.) I want a change at home. Sit down and tell me what you think of The Corsair.

RUTH. No. You must listen to me, Guy. I won't be put off this time.

GUY (easily). Oh, well, if I'm in for it, I'm in for it. What's it all about?

RUTH. You saw mother here. She's been telling me things.

GUY. Really, Ruth, you can't expect me to take any notice of your mother's old wives' tales.

RUTH. You needn't notice them. But when I'm told you're in danger, I notice them.

GUY (still lightly). Danger? What of?

RUTH. What have you been doing in the factory?

GUY (sternly). Leave that alone. That's my affair.

RUTH. And it's my affair if they murder you.

GUY (rising). Oh! So they've got to talking about murder have they? I'll teach them.

RUTH (taking his arm, pleadingly). Guy, you must be careful. For my sake.

GUY. I shall look after myself, Ruth. (Standing by fireplace, hand on shelf.)

RUTH. But what have you done to them? I know that since you married me you've had more power, and your father's done less than he used to. It's something you've done that's upset the weavers.

GUY (over his shoulder). I found it necessary to make economies and they don't like it.

RUTH. Economies I You mean you've cut their wages down?

GUY. That's it.

RUTH. And they were so pitifully low. They'd hardly enough for bread before.

GUY (facing her). I don't fix the price of bread. It's no use discussing it with you. You can't understand.

RUTH. I'm not thinking of them. At one time I should have done. That's over now. To-day I only think of you. And you're in danger. I know it. I know it.

GUY. Nothing's going to happen to me. I've a rough idea of what they think of me. I've taken my precautions.

RUTH. No precautions are proof against desperate men.

GUY. Then if nothing's any good, why worry?

RUTH. Something would be good. Raise their wages.

GUY. That's impossible. I've told you to drop discussing it.

RUTH. Why is it impossible? They'd more before you reduced them and you didn't starve.

GUY. No. But I wasn't building another factory then. I want every penny I can screw to-day.

RUTH. Another factory!

GUY (with a touch of fanaticism). Yes. I mean to have another. One was good enough for my father, but it isn't good enough for me. What was enterprising ten years ago isn't enterprising to-day. Machinery's improved since then.

RUTH. Then you're quite sure factories are right?

GUY (grimly). I'm quite sure they're money-makers.

RUTH. But money isn't all.

GUY. I keep on telling you not to discuss it. With your upbringing and your father's views, we're bound to differ, so for Heaven's sake talk about Byron, or anything under the sun but factories.

RUTH. I'm talking about your danger. You won't believe me.

GUY. You won't believe me when I say there is no danger because I'm prepared to meet anything.

RUTH. Including bullets? Do you wear a coat of mail?

GUY. That's the worst of reading The Corsair. Put this cock-and-bull story of your mother's on the top of The Corsair and you're ready to imagine anything. We're in England now.

RUTH. So is Nottingham.

GUY. This is Lancashire. We don't have Luddites here.

RUTH. We have plug riots. I've read it in the newspaper.

GUY. Women shouldn't read newspapers. It's all right, Ruth. Our fellows won't get out of hand.

RUTH. You're driving them to desperation, Guy. I know the other side. I've seen. Guy, won't you have mercy on them?

GUY. I'll have another factory out of them.

RUTH. Have mercy on yourself and me. I'm so happy here. You've made me love you till I would cut off my hand to save you from a scratch upon your little finger. I shan't know peace again whenever you're away.

GUY. Upon my word, Ruth, it's too bad of your mother. She ought to keep away, and not come here disturbing you with wild tales that haven't a spark of truth in them.

RUTH. Are they wild tales?

GUY. They're wild as wind.

RUTH. But you said you'd taken precautions. If there's no truth, why take precautions?

GUY. I said anything to comfort you. Are you satisfied now?

RUTH. I'm silenced.

GUY. That's good enough.

(Enter Ephraim and John Heppenstall, another factory owner, resembling Ephraim in type, dress, and age. He is, however, a more timid man, and his manner is irresolute.)

EPHRAIM (as they enter). Come in here, Heppenstall. (Seeing Ruth.) Ah! you've met my son's wife?

JOHN (bowing politely, with a touch of courtliness). Good evening, Mrs. Guy. (To Guy.) Good evening.

GUY. Good evening, Mr. Heppenstall. (Taking Ruth's arm). Ruth, my dear, Mr. Heppenstall has called on a matter of business.

RUTH. Oh, mayn't I stay and listen? I'll be as quiet as a mouse.

EPHRAIM (genially). Never knew anybody like this lass of Guy's, Heppenstall. She's interested in all manner of affairs. (To Ruth.) You promise to be quiet?

RUTH (eagerly). Oh, yes, yes.

GUY. No. Ruth's more interested in Byron than anything else. (Holding the book to her.) You can't read him here with us talking all the time.

RUTH. You want me to go?

GUY. Please.

RUTH (submissively). Yes Guy. (Takes book and exit.)

GUY (closing door behind her). That's better. Women are sentimental, and we've to talk business. Won't you sit, Mr. Heppenstall?

JOHN (who has been eyeing Guy with disapproval). Thank you, Mr. Guy, I will.

(They sit round table.)

EPHRAIM (after clearing his throat). Now, Heppenstall, I'll tell you what it's all about.

JOHN. I'm waiting to hear.

EPHRAIM. You and I are rival manufacturers, but that's no reason why we shouldn't put our legs under the same table when we find the times difficult. I suppose there's no denying, they are difficult?

JOHN. They're more than difficult.

EPHRAIM. Then we agree so far. What threatens us threatens you. In fact, our interests are identical.

JOHN. Not quite, I think.

EPHRAIM. Eh? Well, no. What's mine isn't thine. We've each to make a profit for ourselves. But we get the profit out of weaving, and your weavers are fractious; so are ours.

JOHN. But mine aren't—or not to anything like the extent yours are.

EPHRAIM. I'm told the grumbling is universal.

JOHN. It's general up to a point, but there's a dead set at you.

EPHRAIM. At me?

JOHN. Well, no, not at you, Barlow. It's this young gentleman who's the mischief-maker.

GUY. The mischief-maker, Mr. Heppenstall?

JOHN (defending himself). You reduced wages. You put down fresh machinery, and got rid of men and——

GUY. And you've done the same.

JOHN. I had to follow suit or see you take my trade away. I didn't want to do it. I believe in treating men as men.

GUY. I believe in treating men as servants of the machines. It's all they are.

JOHN. No. By your leave, young gentleman, it is not all they are. They're flesh and blood. (To Ephraim.) And I'm surprised, Barlow, at your allowing your men to be reduced.

GUY. The men can live on what they're paid.

JOHN. They can't.

GUY. They do. I'm getting applications every day from men who want to be taken on.

JOHN. Yes, so am I. And why? Because the steam power's taken away their living and half a living's better than none to a starving man. (To Ephraim.) You ought to be ashamed of yourself to take advantage of them.

EPHRAIM. Well, Heppenstall, it's——

GUY (interrupting). I'm responsible, Mr. Heppenstall. If you've anything to say about the management of Barlow's, say it to me. My father's virtually retired.

EPHRAIM (with spirit). Have I? I'm not dead yet, my lad. I've given you a lot of rope, but be careful or you'll hang yourself.

JOHN (approvingly, turning his shoulder on Guy). That's better, Barlow. I mislike seeing you knuckle under to a boy.

(Guy rises and goes to fireplace, standing with his back to table. John speaks across table to Ephraim )

Now, look here, I had to follow your lead when you reduced. Will you follow mine if I put them up again to what they were three months ago?

GUY (wheeling round). And let the weavers fancy we're afraid of them?

JOHN (not turning). I'm not afraid of them. I'm sorry for them.

GUY. They know better. Once give in, and they're the masters. Show them they've only to ask and threaten to get what they ask and they'll ask for more. They'll not stop at the old level.

JOHN. Oh, we can't go beyond the old figure.

GUY. No. But you'll have to if once you start putting wages on the basis of a benevolent Charity. I'm in business to buy cheap and sell dear. I want my labour as cheap as I can get it and, by God, I'll get it cheap.

EPHRAIM (thumping table). Are you the head of Barlow's or am I?

GUY (impatiently). Oh, you are, I suppose.

EPHRAIM. Then you'd better not forget it or I'll turn you out of the room and finish this talk with Heppenstall alone.

(Guy throws himself in chair by fire.)

GUY (sighing to himself). Oh, my God, these old men!

EPHRAIM (to John). I agree to that. I'll raise them on condition you do the same.

GUY. I object.

EPHRAIM. Your objection is overruled.

GUY. I'm your partner.

EPHRAIM (hotly). I am the head of Barlow's and——

(Manservant enters with port, glasses, etc., places on table, and exit in silence.)

(Ephraim pours out wine, and offers John, etc.)

GUY. The old wages won't satisfy the weavers. They grumbled then. But the point for Mr. Heppenstall is this. It may have hurt his tender heart, but when we reduced, he did the same, and he needn't cant about it now, for actions speak louder than words. The thing is that he acts with us, and we manufacturers can present a solid front and——

JOHN. Yes, but you set the bad example. I'm a business man and I had to follow or you'd have cut me out with my customers. But as a humane man, I protest, sir.

GUY. Because you look at the men. I look at the system. The system's magnificent, and if the factory system demands sacrifices, I shall sacrifice men without scruple.

JOHN. Will you sacrifice yourself?

GUY. I do sacrifice myself. I've sacrificed my personal security. I risk my life every day and I value my life, Mr. Heppenstall. I value it so much that I've taken protective measures at the factory. I've a few stout fellows there—an odd prizefighter or two, an old soldier from the French wars, nominally as watchmen, but they're men who can use their fists and handle a gun too if the worst comes.

JOHN. Ah! You've a pretty good idea of looking after yourself.

GUY. It isn't for my own sake.

JOHN (sceptically). No?

GUY. Oh, I've a life I'd like to live. I've a wife and I'm young and so on—but that doesn't matter. My value is as a factory owner.

EPHRAIM. Owner?

GUY. Manager, then. I believe in the system, I'm here to spread that system, to cover Lancashire with factories and make the county manufacturing centre of the world. That is my dream, sir, the dream of cheap production, and the triumph of machinery.

JOHN. You're talking very big, young man. It takes me all my time to run one factory.

GUY. I know I'm talking big. I'm seeing big, bigger than will come in your lifetime or in mine. This thing's at the beginning. It's not secure yet, but I mean to do my part to set it firmly on its legs before I die.

JOHN. There's nothing wonderful in bigness. A thousand factories are no more wonderful than one.

GUY. Oh, you've no vision.

JOHN. And maybe you've too much. The future isn't here. The present and those weavers are. And they trouble me.

GUY. They trouble me until they've learnt who's master. After that, there'll be no trouble.

(Enter Ruth, excitedly, leaving door open behind her.)

RUTH. Guy! The men. Don't you hear them?

GUY. Men! Where?

RUTH. They're in the hall.

(Enter Henri, Joseph, Matthew and Martin.)

HENRI. No, Madame Barlow, we are no longer in the hall. We are here.

EPHRAIM (on his feet). What's the meaning of this?

JOE (insolently). Meaning, Mr. Barlow? The meaning is, you'll either listen to us here and now or you'll have your factory fired. You can take your choice.

GUY. Fire then, and be damned to you.

JOE. Is that your answer, Mr. Barlow?

EPHRAIM. No. Come here and be quiet, Guy. Who am I speaking to?

MATTHEW. You know us, Mr. Barlow.

EPHRAIM. You're in bad company, Matt.

MATTHEW. I told you how 'twould be if you forced me into factory.

EPHRAIM. Are you the spokesman? I suppose there's a ringleader. Who is he?

HENRI. We are all leaders.

GUY (sneering), I've heard of armies that were all generals and no privates.

MARTIN (quietly). If you mean by leader who it is that's-kept back the riot——

JOHN (badly frightened). Riot?

MARTIN. There are hundreds round your factories tonight. They're waiting there, waiting for us. I'm leader enough to hold them back until we get your answer. Take care lest I lead them in a different fashion on another night.

GUY. Mutiny, eh?

MARTIN. Oh, names don't matter, Mr. Guy. We could call you names, and true ones, if we liked.

EPHRAIM. So you're their leader, Martin Kelsall?

MARTIN. At your service, Mr. Barlow.

EPHRAIM. I have my doubts of that. Well now, we'll just sit down and talk this over quietly.

RUTH. Father, you amongst the rioters!

MATTHEW. We're here as peaceful delegates.

GUY. With threats of fire and murder on your tongue.

JOHN (querulously). What's it all about? Never mind who they are. What do they want?

HENRI. More wages.

JOE. Less machinery.

MARTIN. Close the factories.

MATTHEW. And whatever you do, give a fellow-creature a chance of living, Mr. Barlow.

EPHRAIM. Will one of you speak for all? What are your complaints?

MARTIN. I'll speak, Mr. Barlow. We complain of starvation, of being driven into your factories and——

EPHRAIM. Stop there. We drive nobody. There's no compulsion to enter our factories.

MARTIN. There's the compulsion of need. You won't have hand-looms and you've forced us into factories. You've got us there and we've been helpless before you. We've to work your hours and take your pay, and the pay's not fit to keep a dog alive. We're tired of factories. We want to live.

(Murmurs of agreement from the men.)

GUY (rising). Listen to me, men. Everything must have a beginning. A great system is springing into birth. It isn't perfect yet——

MARTIN. Perfect! It's——

GUY (proceeding). You are suffering the lean years. The fat ones are coming.

MARTIN. We've heard all that before. You put it down to the war, not to the machines that time.

GUY. Even England can't recover in a moment from a war like this one.

MARTIN. It was all the war last time we made complaint and when the war was over you promised us fat times, and all of us were going to go hell for leather for prosperity.

GUY. Just wait a bit. Think what a great thing this system is. We're going to make calico for the whole world. We've all a share in it.

HENRI. You get your share and ours as well.

GUY. Do try to follow me. The cotton comes to us from the sun-kissed fields of far America, grown there by planters descended from men of our own blood and——

MARTIN. The cotton's grown by slaves.

GUY. That's not my business.

MATTHEW. No. Your business is to make slaves of us here.

GUY. I'll tell you something, Mr. Butterworth. It's this, and it's from a book you know. "Where there is no vision, the people perish."

MATTHEW. I don't know about the vision, but I'm sure about the perishing. And I know where we'll go when we've finished perishing. When one of us gets up to the Golden Gate, Peter 'ull ask him what he was and he'll say a weaver, and Peter 'ull ask him no more questions. He'll just open the gate quick and say, "Poor devil, get into heaven, you've had your bellyful of hell on earth."

GUY. You'll have prosperity on earth.

MARTIN. Aye. So you've said before.

GUY. You complain of the machines. You say they've turned men away.

JOE. Aye.

GUY. Those men will soon find work.

MARTIN. Where?

GUY. I'm going to build another factory.

MARTIN. By God, you're not.

MATTHEW. Another! Isn't one hell on earth enough for you?

GUY. Patience, patience! I'm trying to explain.

MARTIN. We've no time for patience. We're famishing. And you'll build no other factory. You'll change your tune or you'll lose the one you've got. Building new factories is no use to us. We're not builders. We're weavers.

EPHRAIM. Hold your tongue, Guy. I'll tackle this.

(Guy sits sulkily.)

MATTHEW. We'll hear the old master.

EPHRAIM. Now, my lads, the factory's there, and it's going to stop there.

(Guy takes paper and pencil from his pocket and begins to draw caricatures of the men.)

HENRI. Don't be too sure of it.

EPHRAIM. Burn it and we build another. And while it's building you'll have time to think and clear heads to think with, for you'll draw no wages in the meantime. I'm still waiting to know why you're here.

MATTHEW. If you'd not reduced wages, maybe we'd not be here.

EPHRAIM. That's it, is it?

JOE. Yes, that's it.

EPHRAIM. Will it make you happy if I put the wages up again?

MARTIN. It won't make us happy. There's been no happy weavers since machines came in.

JOHN. Is that what you want? Wages back at the old level?

MARTIN. No. We want more. The old level isn't good enough. Eight shillings a week won't keep a man, let alone a man's family.

EPHRAIM. We give your families work. You men aren't the only wage-earners. Even your children can come to us and be paid. We not only keep them away from mischief at home, but we pay them for it. (Rising.) You can take that answer back. We want willing workers and if you'll go away and be satisfied with the old wages, we'll try to pay them, though it's little less than ruin for the manufacturers.

MARTIN (scornfully). This looks a ruined house, and you look badly fed and all with your wine, and your servants, and your money to build another factory. To hell with your eight shillings! We want ten.

JOHN. And we want cent, per cent, profits, my man, only we don't get them.

EPHRAIM (sternly). This is no time for jesting, Kelsall.

MARTIN. I wasn't jesting. Ten shillings a week is what we want.

EPHRAIM. Ten is out of the question.

MATTHEW. I've made double ten with my old hand-loom. Where's the good of factories to us if that's what they bring us to?

(Guy rises with his drawings comes round to John and gives it him.)

JOHN (laughing). Ha! Very good. I didn't know you drew.

GUY. I've had practice lately. Drawing plans for my new factory.

(John passes it on to Ephraim.)

EPHRAIM (glancing at it). Pssh! (To men.) Well, that's what you're here for, is it? Ten shillings.

MARTIN. Yes.

EPHRAIM. We offer eight.

MARTIN. Then I warn you there'll be consequences.

GUY. We're ready for your consequences.

EPHRAIM. Guy, I've told you to hold your tongue. (Reasonably.) We've made a big concession, Kelsall. Martin. You'll make a bigger if you want us satisfied. John. We do want you satisfied. We want this valley peaceful and contented.

MARTIN. Then you know what to do.

EPHRAIM. Suppose we talk it over and give you an answer to-morrow?

JOE. We've come here for an answer to-night, Mr. Barlow.

EPHRAIM. Very well. Stay here and we'll come back with an answer. Come into the other room, Mr. Heppenstall. (The men give way sullenly.) Come, Guy.

(Heppenstall passes out, as Ephraim holds door open. Guy catches Ephraim at door.)

GUY. Do you want your silver stolen?

EPHRAIM. Guy, I'd trust Matt Butterworth with everything I own.

GUY. And the others?

EPHRAIM. Matt will be there.

(Exeunt Guy and Ephraim. Neither thinks of Ruth, who now rises from her chair by fire, crosses, and speaks with Matthew, while the rest appreciate the fire and examine curiously the fire-irons, etc.)

RUTH. Father, what are you doing with these men? Matthew. Mind your own business, my lass.

RUTH. I am minding it. I'm minding Guy. If anything happens to Guy, I shall hold you responsible. Matthew. Guy has the remedy in his own hands. Ruth. The remedy's in your hands. You have influence with the men. See how they wanted you on their side. They came to you at home before I married. They'll listen to you.

MATTHEW. I've no great influence, Ruth. I'm one of the crowd. Martin Kelsall's the man they listen to.

RUTH (glancing at the three who are now gathered round the drawing Ephraim left on table). Yes. I'm going to talk to Martin. But not here. I sent him a message to-night. Can you do nothing, father?

MATTHEW. I can do nothing but what's right.

RUTH. Violence is never right.

MATTHEW. Oh, yes, it is. Often. I've counselled peace, but there's a time for war, and if the time comes, old as I am, I'll do my share.

JOE (coming across with drawing). Look here, Butter-worth. See that? He drew it. Guy Barlow drew that. That's what he thinks of us.

MATTHEW (taking it). A drawing?

JOE (pointing). That's me.

MATTHEW. Nay, never.

JOE. I pin my waistcoat up that road 'cause all the world don't need to know I haven't got a shirt.

MATTHEW (looking at drawing). Yes. He's spotted that right enough.

MARTIN (over Matthew's shoulder). And that scarecrow's meant for me.

MATTHEW (smiling in spite of himself). Well, he's a clever drawer, Mr. Guy.

HENRI. What is that writing, Matt? You can read.

MATTHEW (half turning away). Yes, I can read.

(Ruth comes as if to try to secure the paper. Martin turns his shoulder to her and the three men surround Matthew as he stands C.)

JOE. What is it?

MATTHEW (reluctantly). Something cruel, Joe. It's under your picture.

JOE. I can see that.

MARTIN. Out with it Matt.

MATTHEW. No need to cry aloud the shame of what a young man does in his pride.

HENRI. You think to shield him because he is your son-in-law. You are a traitor, Butterworth.

JOE. Best read it, Matt. We'll get it done outside, in any ease.

MATTHEW. It isn't much. He's wrote "No shirt but dirt" below you.

JOE (as the group breaks up). Dirt! If I'm dirty who's fault is that but his? I don't like dirt. I'd like to be clean like him. How can a man wash properly when his belly's crying out for bread and they've put the tax on soap? I'd like a shirt. I'm weaving yards and yards of Barlow's cloth and I haven't got a shirt.

MATTHEW. It's wrong to make a jest of starving men. We've come to ask for fire for our hearths and clothes to cover our nakedness, and food for the children. We don't want fine raiment nor grand houses, nor wine like that. The simple things are good enough for us, and we come here to ask the masters for them, and all we get is a mocking picture and a cruel jest, and I'm sick and sorry that the son of Mr. Barlow and the husband of my lass should be the one that's done it. We're asking for the right to live, and all we get is contumely and shame.

MARTIN (triumphantly). That's brought you round at last. We'll have no more peace-preaching from you. You know now what they think of us. We're dogs and worse than dogs. Well, dogs can bite.

RUTH (her hand on Martin's arm). Martin!

MARTIN (roughly shaking her off). I've no word for you. You've gone wrong. (Moving.) Let's clear away. No need to wait. We've got their answer here in this. (Tapping picture in Matthew's hand.) To-morrow night we'll meet up on the moors and march down on the factory.

HENRI. I said I'd hear you frozen English sing the Marseillaise.

RUTH. The moors!

MATTHEW. It's not a lawful thing to meet like that. Joe. Lawful! Who cares for the laws of London here? I'd take the Luddites' oath to-night, and that's an oath no man can dare to break.

MARTIN. Swear by your vacant concave belly, man. (Tapping Joe's stomach.) You'll find no stronger oath than that.

MATTHEW. They'll have the law of you.

MARTIN. The law doesn't care for us. The law lets us starve. We've finished with palaver now. We've got to do.

(They are reaching the door when Ephraim, John and Guy enter by the opposite door.)

EPHRAIM. Where are you going?

MARTIN. We're tired of waiting.

EPHRAIM. Come, come! We had to consider our answer. (The men come back.)

JOE (closing door, l.). Well, have you got your answer?

EPHRAIM. Yes. Go back to your fellows and tell them this: We will raise wages to the old figure——

MARTIN. We've refused that.

EPHRAIM. Let me finish, my man. And as to a further increase, when you've tried how you go on and we've all of us thought it over and feel a little calmer than we do now, well, we'll see if we can't do something more for you.

HENRI. You will see now if you mean to see at all.

EPHRAIM. That's my last word, men. You've got a lot. Now go away and be reasonable.

MARTIN. And this is my last word, Mr. Barlow. You've refused, and refused with scorn.

EPHRAIM. Scorn? I've not——

MARTIN. If you haven't, he has (pointing at Guy), and we know which of the pair is boss. You think you are, but we and Mr. Guy know better. He's boss and (taking picture from Matthew) he calls us dirty and makes insulting pictures of us for you to laugh at. We shan't do anything to-night. To-morrow night we're meeting on the moors. Look to your factory, then.

GUY. If I'm boss, listen to me. I've told you I believe in factories.

MARTIN. And I tell you you'll have no factory to believe in. We're tired of machinery.

GUY. The machines are going on. Factories are going on. It's my life's work to push them on.

HENRI. Then look to your life.

GUY. The system's going on. It may break men in the making. It may break me. But, by God, I'll break you first. Ideas are greater than men. They conquer men. You can burn and kill and scotch the system here, but the idea will go on in spite of you and anything you rioters can do to us. You can crush us perhaps, but you can't kill the idea. Factories will spring up and men will live and die for them and roll themselves against them like waves against the rocks, but the factories are permanent because the world is crying for our cloth.

JOE. And I haven't got a shirt.

GUY. A shirt! The world doesn't care for you. It's cloth by the hundred thousand yards they want. It's not your petty wants the system cares about. It's——

MARTIN. Then to hell with the system. We're petty, and, as you say, we can't do much. We can't stop factories being built elsewhere. But we can stop them here. We're broken men, but our spirit isn't broken yet. You've set up your last machine. Your system may be all you think, but men come first.

GUY. Your men or mine?

MARTIN. The men you've driven desperate. The starving, ragged men with wives and children hunger-mad, with everything to win and nowt to lose. It's men like that that win. Men with the choice of fighting hard or dying slow. Men with a bitter hatred in their hearts and knowledge in their heads that machinery's the cause of all. Men fighting for themselves against the men that fight for money and for you. Your hired bullies won't last long. We know they're there, and know we'll see them run.

GUY (soberly). You'll waste your blood. You may waste life. I've got men there. I don't deny it. And I ask you not to break yourselves against them. You're thinking me a coward, but it isn't that.

MARTIN (sneering). Oh? What is it then?

GUY. It's that I know. I won't be you and it won't be I who will win this fight.

JOE. It must be one of us.

GUY. No. We may have ups and downs, but the system will conquer us both.

MARTIN. To-morrow night your factory will burn. We meet up on the moors, not tens or twenties of us, but every man of Barlow's and of Heppenstall's, and——

GUY. And we'll be glad to see you. Good night.

MATTHEW (to Ephraim). Mr. Barlow——

EPHRAIM (shaking his head). My son speaks for me, Matt.

(Exeunt Martin, Henri, Joe, Matthew.)

GUY. The blazing fools! To give away their meeting-place.

JOHN. The moors are wide.

GUY. They meet beneath the quarry. I know their place. We'll get them there. One good surprise attack and we shall hear no more of meetings.

RUTH. Guy, you're going into danger.

GUY. Not I while there are redcoats to fight my battles for me.

RUTH. Soldiers!

GUY. What else are soldiers for? I ride to Blackburn barracks to-night. We'll teach these rioters a lesson that they'll not forget. Write me the summons to the barracks, father. You're a magistrate.

EPHRAIM. It's a heavy responsibility, Guy.

GUY. A flaming factory's the alternative.

EPHRAIM. Pass me the paper.

(Sits at table and writes, John bending over him. Guy goes to fireplace, takes a pair of spurs from mantel and straps them on. Ruth follows him.)

RUTH. Guy, must you ride yourself? Can't you send somebody you trust?

GUY (grimly). I'm sending somebody I trust.

RUTH. It's dangerous.

GUY. Rioting's a dangerous pastime—for the rioters.

RUTH (appealingly). But soldiers in the valley, Guy! You'll never be forgiven. It always will be war between you and the weavers if you bring soldiers here. They'll be revenged.

GUY (straightening his back and taking the second spur, bending to put it on). Meantime, I've got to save the factory.

RUTH. And I have got to save the factory and you.

GUY. You!

RUTH (tensely). Can I do nothing, Guy?

EPHRAIM (holding out the paper, without rising). The summons, Guy.

GUY (replying to Ruth). Yes. You can pass me the summons.

(He bends, fastening the spur. Ruth goes slowly to Ephraim, takes the paper and hesitates as if intending to tear it, then jerks her head and takes it to Guy, who accepts, straightening himself and pocketing it.)

GUY. Ah! That's all right.

EPHRAIM (who has been filling three wine glasses, rising with glass). Here's to your ride, Guy.

GUY (coming to table and filling a fourth glass). I'll give you a better toast than that. The factory. (Passing Ruth glass.)

EPHRAIM. (John and Guy). Ruth! (drinking together). The factory. (Ruth hesitates, meets Guy's eye until he masters her.) Ruth. The factory.

(She gulps as if taking poison. Guy drinks his glass off and goes to door.)

CURTAIN.