CARTER enters, smoking a pipe; he wears overalls and jumper.  He carries a heavy roll of typewritten sheets.  Tosses this upon the table, glances at NORA, who does not notice him, divests himself of overalls and jumper, and puts on the black frock coat which he wore in Act II.  He looks at his watch and at the clock on the wall.

CARTER [straightening out his coat]:  I thought it might look better to get on my Sunday clothes for the meeting, as you might say, Miss Gorodna.  Being as I’m chairman it might look more dignified; kind o’ help give a kind of authority, maybe.

NORA [absently, not looking up]:  Yes.

CARTER [looking at his watch and at the clock again]:  It ought to be wound up for meetings. [He steps upon a chair; moves the hands of clock.] There, doggone it, the key’s lost!  I believe Mrs. Simpson took that key for their own clock. [He goes to the table; sits, unrolls the typewritten sheets, puts on his spectacles, and studies the sheets in a kind of misery, roughing his hair badly and making sounds of moaning.] Miss Gorodna, can you make this figure out here for me?  Does that mean profits—­or what?

NORA:  Oh, no; that’s only an amount carried over.

CARTER:  They’s so many little puzzlin’ things in this bookkeeper’s report.  I don’t believe he understands it himself.  I don’t see how he expects me to read that to the meeting.  Some parts I can’t make head or tail of.  Others it looks like he’s got the words jest changed round.

NORA:  Oh, we’ll work it all out at the meeting, Mr. Carter!

CARTER:  My, we got a lot to work out at this meeting.

NORA:  We’ll do it, comrade!

CARTER [cheering up]:  Sure!  Sure we will!  It’s wonderful what a meeting does; I’m always forgettin’ all we got to do is vote and then the trouble’s over.

     [Instantly upon this a loud squabbling and women’s voices are
     heard outside, in the factory.]

NORA [troubled]:  I was afraid this would happen.  Of course after Mrs. Simpson came other wives were bound to.

CARTER [uneasily moving toward the door to the street]:  Well, I guess I better—­

[The door into the factory is flung open by MRS. SIMPSON, in a state of fury.  Another woman’s voice is heard for a moment, shouting:  “Old Cat!  Old She-Cat!  Wants to be a Tom-Cat!"]

MRS. SIMPSON:  See here, Carter, if you still pretend to be chairman you come out here and keep order!

CARTER:  Now, Mrs. Simpson, you better go on home!

MRS. SIMPSON [raging]:  Me! My place is right here, but I’m not going to stand this Commiskey woman’s insults!  She come down here this morning with her husband and started right in to run this factory.  My heavens!  Ain’t she got five children at home?  As long as you still pretend to be chairman I demand you come out and tell this woman to go about her business.