The men have been treated justly, they have had fair wages, we have always been ready to listen to complaints.  It has been said that times have changed; if they have, I have not changed with them.  Neither will I. It has been said that masters and men are equal!  Cant!  There can only be one master in a house!  Where two men meet the better man will rule.  It has been said that Capital and Labour have the same interests.  Cant!  Their interests are as wide asunder as the poles.  It has been said that the Board is only part of a machine.  Cant!  We are the machine; its brains and sinews; it is for us to lead and to determine what is to be done, and to do it without fear or favour.  Fear of the men!  Fear of the shareholders!  Fear of our own shadows!  Before I am like that, I hope to die.

     [He pauses, and meeting his son’s eyes, goes on.]

There is only one way of treating “men”—­with the iron hand.  This half and half business, the half and half manners of this generation, has brought all this upon us.  Sentiment and softness, and what this young man, no doubt, would call his social policy.  You can’t eat cake and have it!  This middle-class sentiment, or socialism, or whatever it may be, is rotten.  Masters are masters, men are men!  Yield one demand, and they will make it six.  They are [he smiles grimly] like Oliver Twist, asking for more.  If I were in their place I should be the same.  But I am not in their place.  Mark my words:  one fine morning, when you have given way here, and given way there—­you will find you have parted with the ground beneath your feet, and are deep in the bog of bankruptcy; and with you, floundering in that bog, will be the very men you have given way to.  I have been accused of being a domineering tyrant, thinking only of my pride—­I am thinking of the future of this country, threatened with the black waters of confusion, threatened with mob government, threatened with what I cannot see.  If by any conduct of mine I help to bring this on us, I shall be ashamed to look my fellows in the face.

     [Anthony stares before him, at what he cannot see, and there is
     perfect stillness.  Frost comes in from the hall, and all but
     Anthony look round at him uneasily.]

Frost. [To his master.] The men are here, sir. [Anthony makes a gesture of dismissal.] Shall I bring them in, sir?

Anthony.  Wait!

     [Frost goes out, Anthony turns to face his son.]

I come to the attack that has been made upon me.

     [Edgar, with a gesture of deprecation, remains motionless with
     his head a little bowed.]

A woman has died.  I am told that her blood is on my hands; I am told that on my hands is the starvation and the suffering of other women and of children.

Edgar.  I said “on our hands,” sir.