Edgar.  I don’t see how we can get over it that to go on like this means starvation to the men’s wives and families.

     [Wilder turns abruptly to the fire, and Scantlebury puts out a
     hand to push the idea away.]

Wanklin.  I’m afraid again that sounds a little sentimental.

Edgar.  Men of business are excused from decency, you think?

Wilder.  Nobody’s more sorry for the men than I am, but if they [lashing himself] choose to be such a pig-headed lot, it’s nothing to do with us; we’ve quite enough on our hands to think of ourselves and the shareholders.

Edgar. [Irritably.] It won’t kill the shareholders to miss a dividend or two; I don’t see that that’s reason enough for knuckling under.

Scantlebury. [With grave discomfort.] You talk very lightly of your dividends, young man; I don’t know where we are.

Wilder.  There’s only one sound way of looking at it.  We can’t go on ruining ourselves with this strike.

Anthony.  No caving in!

Scantlebury. [With a gesture of despair.] Look at him!

     [Anthony’s leaning back in his chair.  They do look at him.]

Wilder. [Returning to his seat.] Well, all I can say is, if that’s the Chairman’s view, I don’t know what we’ve come down here for.

Anthony.  To tell the men that we’ve got nothing for them——­ [Grimly.] They won’t believe it till they hear it spoken in plain English.

Wilder.  H’m!  Shouldn’t be a bit surprised if that brute Roberts had n’t got us down here with the very same idea.  I hate a man with a grievance.

Edgar. [Resentfully.] We didn’t pay him enough for his discovery.  I always said that at the time.

Wilder.  We paid him five hundred and a bonus of two hundred three years later.  If that’s not enough!  What does he want, for goodness’ sake?

Tench. [Complainingly.] Company made a hundred thousand out of his brains, and paid him seven hundred—­that’s the way he goes on, sir.

Wilder.  The man’s a rank agitator!  Look here, I hate the Unions.  But now we’ve got Harness here let’s get him to settle the whole thing.

Anthony.  No! [Again they look at him.]

Underwood.  Roberts won’t let the men assent to that.

Scantlebury.  Fanatic!  Fanatic!

Wilder. [Looking at Anthony.] And not the only one! [Frost enters from the hall.]

Frost. [To Anthony.] Mr. Harness from the Union, waiting, sir.  The men are here too, sir.

     [Anthony nods.  Underwood goes to the door, returning with
     Harness, a pale, clean-shaven man with hollow cheeks, quick
     eyes, and lantern jaw—­Frost has retired.]