GIBSON [somewhat ruefully]:  Well, that’s pleasant news.

     [ELLA appears from the house.]

ELLA:  It’s that old Ed Carter from the factory, Mr. Gibson.  He heard from Tom Riley you was expected back and he’s come to call on you.

GIBSON:  Tell him to come right out. [Sees CARTER beyond ELLA.] Come out here, Carter!  Glad to see you!

[They shake hands. CARTER is unchanged as to head and whiskers, but wears a square-cut black frock coat, or “Prince Albert,” with trousers and waistcoat of the same material; old brown shoes, a derby hat, a blue satin four-in-hand tie.]

CARTER:  How do you do, Mr. Gibson!  I just thought I’d pay my respects, as Tom Riley passed the word round the factory you was coming back.

GIBSON:  Sit down, sit down!

MIFFLIN [exuberantly]:  How do you do, Carter, how do you do! [They shake hands and MIFFLIN pats CARTER on the shoulder.] Look at him, Mr. Gibson!  Look at him!  Don’t you see what the New Freedom has done for him?  It’s in his eye!  That pride of liberty!  It’s in his step, in every gesture he makes. [CARTER strokes his whiskers.] You’re old friends—­equal now, equal at last.  I won’t disturb you! [Picks up his hat, magazines, and umbrella.] He can give you more than I can, Mr. Gibson.  Good afternoon!  Good afternoon!

     [He goes out through the gate.]

GIBSON:  Sit down, Carter.  Sit down! [They sit.] Well, is everything fine?

CARTER [heartily]:  Yes, sir!  It is, Mr. Gibson!  Indeed it is! [Glances with some little pride at his clothes.] I couldn’t of expected no finer.  Fact is, I never could of asked for anything like this, even if I’d been a praying man.

GIBSON:  Well, I’m glad to hear it, Carter!

CARTER:  I knowed you would be, Mr. Gibson.  It’s all just wonderful the way things are working out!

GIBSON:  Everything is working out just right, is it?

CARTER:  Oh, I don’t say everything!  They’s bound to be some little mites here and there.  You know that yourself.

GIBSON [grimly]:  Yes, I do!  What are your little mites, Carter?

CARTER:  Well, what mostly gits my goat is this here Simpson’s wife, Mrs. Simpson.

GIBSON:  What bothers you about Simpson’s wife?

CARTER:  Well, what I says, woman’s place is the home, and this here Mrs.
Simpson—­I—­I never could stand no loud, gabby woman!

GIBSON:  You’re not neighbours, are you?

CARTER:  No!  She spends all her days at the factory; you might think she was running the whole place!  What’s worse’n that, you know they elected me chairman o’ the governing committee, and she’s all the time trying to ’lectioneer me out.  What she wants is to git Simpson in for chairman; that’d be jest same’s her bein’ chairman herself, the way she runs Simpson!  That’s the only thing that worries me.  Everything else is just splendid, splendid!