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 stints ’imself and ’is children to save, there can’t be neither surplus nor security.  That’s why he wouldn’t have no children [she sinks back], not though I wanted them.

Enid.  Yes, yes, I know!

Mrs. Roberts.  No you don’t, M’m.  You’ve got your children, and you’ll never need to trouble for them.

Enid. [Gently.] You oughtn’t to be talking so much, Annie. [Then, in spite of herself.] But Roberts was paid a lot of money, was n’t he, for discovering that process?

Mrs. Roberts. [On the defensive.] All Roberts’s savin’s have gone.  He ’s always looked forward to this strike.  He says he’s no right to a farthing when the others are suffering.  ‘T is n’t so with all o’ them!  Some don’t seem to care no more than that—­so long as they get their own.

Enid.  I don’t see how they can be expected to when they ’re suffering like this. [In a changed voice.] But Roberts ought to think of you!  It’s all terrible——!  The kettle’s boiling.  Shall I make the tea? [She takes the teapot and, seeing tea there, pours water into it.] Won’t you have a cup?

Mrs. Roberts.  No, thank you, M’m. [She is listening, as though for footsteps.] I’d—­sooner you did n’t see Roberts, M’m, he gets so wild.

Enid.  Oh! but I must, Annie; I’ll be quite calm, I promise.

Mrs. Roberts.  It’s life an’ death to him, M’m.

Enid. [Very gently.] I’ll get him to talk to me outside, we won’t excite you.

Mrs. Roberts. [Faintly.] No, M’m.

     [She gives a violent start.  Roberts has come in, unseen.]

Roberts. [Removing his hat—­with subtle mockery.] Beg pardon for coming in; you’re engaged with a lady, I see.