CARTER:  Oh, yes.  But you’ll find every one of ’em’s been opened; we never miss opening a letter.  You see they’s checks in some of ’em.

GIBSON:  I see.  Then everything is running right along, is it, Carter?

CARTER:  Oh, sure!  Right along, right along!

     [The uproar breaks out again. FRANKEL bursts in, wiping his
     forehead as before.  He hurries to the water filter for more
     water.]

FRANKEL:  By golly!  The bloodsuckers!  They want my life!  They don’t get it!  Hello, Mr. Gibson!  Well, I am pleased to see you!  Say, Mr. Gibson, lemme say something to you.  Look here a minute. [He draws GIBSON aside.]

GIBSON:  What is it, Frankel?

FRANKEL [hastily, in a low voice]:  Mr. Gibson, keep it under your hat, but I got a pretty good interest in this factory right now.  What date I’m goin’ to own it I won’t say.  But what I want to put up to you:  How much would you ask me to manage it for me?

GIBSON:  What?

FRANKEL:  I wouldn’t be no piker; when it comes to your salary you could pretty near set it yourself.

GIBSON:  I’m afraid I’ve already had an offer that would keep me from accepting, Frankel.

FRANKEL:  When the time comes I’ll git a manager somewhere; no place like this can’t run itself; I seen that much.

GIBSON:  Even if I didn’t have an offer, Frankel, I doubt if I’d accept yours.  You know I used to have some little trouble here.

FRANKEL:  You got my sympathy now!  I got troubles myself here. [Hastily drinks another glass of water.] Well, where’s that meeting?  They’re late, ain’t they?

CARTER:  If they are it’s your fault.  Them wops of yours won’t hardly let a body git by out yonder.

     [SALVATORE and SHOMBERG come in from the factory, SALVATORE
     pausing in the doorway to shout in the direction of an audible
     disturbance in the distance.]

SALVATORE:  Oh, shut up; you’ll git your pay!

[Following SALVATORE come SIMPSON and his wife and RILEY. They all speak rather casually but not uncordially to GIBSON.  MIFFLIN is with them, his hand on SIMPSON’S shoulder.  The outbreak outside subsides in favour of a speech of extreme violence in a foreign language.  Italian, Yiddish, or whatever it is, it seems most passionate, and by a good orator.  It continues to be heard as the members of the committee take their seats at the big table. MIFFLIN beams and nods at GIBSON; and takes his seat with the committee.]

SHOMBERG [hotly, to MRS. SIMPSON]:  Here, you ain’t a member of this committee!  Git her chair away from her there, Salvatore!  She’s got no right here!

MRS. SIMPSON:  Oh, I haven’t?

SHOMBERG:  Already twice this morning I got hell from my own wife the way this woman treats her tryin’ to chase her out the factory.  You think you’re on this committee?