The bare room, with tattered oilcloth and damp, distempered walls, has an air of tidy wretchedness.  On the bed lies Jones, half-dressed; his coat is thrown across his feet, and muddy boots are lying on the floor close by.  He is asleep.  The door is opened and Mrs. Jones comes in, dressed in a pinched black jacket and old black sailor hat; she carries a parcel wrapped up in the “Times.”  She puts her parcel down, unwraps an apron, half a loaf, two onions, three potatoes, and a tiny piece of bacon.  Taking a teapot from the cupboard, she rinses it, shakes into it some powdered tea out of a screw of paper, puts it on the hearth, and sitting in a wooden chair quietly begins to cry.

Jones. [Stirring and yawning.] That you?  What’s the time?

Mrs. Jones. [Drying her eyes, and in her usual voice.] Half-past two.

Jones.  What you back so soon for?

Mrs. Jones.  I only had the half day to-day, Jem.

Jones. [On his back, and in a drowsy voice.] Got anything for dinner?

Mrs. Jones.  Mrs. BARTHWICK’s cook gave me a little bit of bacon.  I’m going to make a stew. [She prepares for cooking.] There’s fourteen shillings owing for rent, James, and of course I ’ve only got two and fourpence.  They’ll be coming for it to-day.

Jones. [Turning towards her on his elbow.] Let ’em come and find my surprise packet.  I’ve had enough o’ this tryin’ for work.  Why should I go round and round after a job like a bloomin’ squirrel in a cage.  “Give us a job, sir”—­“Take a man on”—­“Got a wife and three children.”  Sick of it I am!  I ’d sooner lie here and rot.  “Jones, you come and join the demonstration; come and ’old a flag, and listen to the ruddy orators, and go ’ome as empty as you came.”  There’s some that seems to like that—­the sheep!  When I go seekin’ for a job now, and see the brutes lookin’ me up an’ down, it’s like a thousand serpents in me.  I ‘m not arskin’ for any treat.  A man wants to sweat hisself silly and not allowed that’s a rum start, ain’t it?  A man wants to sweat his soul out to keep the breath in him and ain’t allowed—­that’s justice that’s freedom and all the rest of it! [He turns his face towards the wall.] You’re so milky mild; you don’t know what goes on inside o’ me.  I’m done with the silly game.  If they want me, let ’em come for me!

     [Mrs. Jones stops cooking and stands unmoving at the table.]

I’ve tried and done with it, I tell you.  I’ve never been afraid of what ’s before me.  You mark my words—­if you think they’ve broke my spirit, you’re mistook.  I ’ll lie and rot sooner than arsk ’em again.  What makes you stand like that—­you long-sufferin’, Gawd-forsaken image—­that’s why I can’t keep my hands off you.  So now you know.  Work!  You can work, but you have n’t the spirit of a louse!