But, Annie, that's why the Union won't help
them. My husband's very sympathetic with the men, but he says they
are not underpaid.

MRS. ROBERTS. No, M'm?

ENID. They never think how the Company could go on if we paid the
wages they want.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With an effort.] But the dividends having been so
big, M'm.

ENID. [Takes aback.] You all seem to think the shareholders are
rich men, but they're not--most of them are really no better off than
working men.

[MRS. ROBERTS smiles.]

They have to keep up appearances.

MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, M'm?

ENID. You don't have to pay rates and taxes, and a hundred other
things that they do. If the men did n't spend such a lot in drink
and betting they'd be quite well off!

MRS. ROBERTS. They say, workin' so hard, they must have some
pleasure.

ENID. But surely not low pleasure like that.

MRS. ROBERTS. [A little resentfully.] Roberts never touches a drop;
and he's never had a bet in his life.

ENID. Oh! but he's not a com----I mean he's an engineer----
a superior man.

MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, M'm. Roberts says they've no chance of other
pleasures.

ENID. [Musing.] Of course, I know it's hard.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a spice of malice.] And they say gentlefolk's
just as bad.

ENID. [With a smile.] I go as far as most people, Annie, but you
know, yourself, that's nonsense.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With painful effort.] A lot 'o the men never go near
the Public; but even they don't save but very little, and that goes
if there's illness.

ENID. But they've got their clubs, have n't they?

MRS. ROBERTS. The clubs only give up to eighteen shillin's a week,
M'm, and it's not much amongst a family. Roberts says workin' folk
have always lived from hand to mouth. Sixpence to-day is worth more
than a shillin' to-morrow, that's what they say.

ENID. But that's the spirit of gambling.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a sort of excitement.] Roberts says a working
man's life is all a gamble, from the time 'e 's born to the time 'e
dies.

[ENID leans forward, interested. MRS. ROBERTS goes on with a
growing excitement that culminates in the personal feeling of
the last words.]

He says, M'm, that when a working man's baby is born, it's a toss-up
from breath to breath whether it ever draws another, and so on all
'is life; an' when he comes to be old, it's the workhouse or the
grave. He says that without a man is very near, and pinches and
s