JOB ARTHUR.  I’m not so sure about that.

GERALD.  I am.  Labour is a thing that can’t have a head.  It’s a sort of unwieldy monster that’s bound to run its skull against the wall sooner or later, and knock out what bit of brain it’s got.  You see, you need wit and courage and real understanding if you’re going to do anything positive.  And Labour has none of these things—­ certainly it shows no signs of them.

JOB ARTHUR.  Yes, when it has a chance, I think you’ll see plenty of courage and plenty of understanding.

GERALD.  It always had a chance.  And where one sees a bit of courage, there’s no understanding; and where there’s some understanding, there’s absolutely no courage.  It’s hopeless, you know—­it would be far best if they’d all give it up, and try a new line.

JOB ARTHUR.  I don’t think they will.

GERALD.  No, I don’t, either.  They’ll make a mess and when they’ve made it, they’ll never get out of it.  They can’t—­they’re too stupid,

JOB ARTHUR.  They’ve never had a try yet.

GERALD.  They’re trying every day.  They just simply couldn’t control modern industry—­they haven’t the intelligence.  They’ve no LIFE intelligence.  The owners may have little enough, but Labour has none.  They’re just mechanical little things that can make one or two motions, and they’re done.  They’ve no more idea of life than a lawn-mower has.

JOB ARTHUR.  It remains to be seen.

GERALD.  No, it doesn’t.  It’s perfectly obvious—­there’s nothing remains to be seen.  All that Labour is capable of, is smashing things up.  And even for that I don’t believe it has either the energy or the courage or the bit of necessary passion, or slap-dash—­ call it whatever you will.  However, we’ll see.

JOB ARTHUR.  Yes, sir.  Perhaps you see now why you’re not so very popular, Mr. Gerald.

GERALD.  We can’t all be popular, Job Arthur.  You’re very high up in popularity, I believe.

JOB ARTHUR.  Not so very.  They listen to me a bit.  But you never know when they’ll let you down.  I know they’ll let me down one day—­ so it won’t be a surprise.

GERALD.  I should think not.

JOB ARTHUR.  But about the office men, Mr. Gerald.  You think it’ll be all right?

GERALD.  Oh, yes, that’ll be all right.

JOB ARTHUR.  Easiest for this time, anyhow, sir.  We don’t want bloodshed, do we?

GERALD.  I shouldn’t mind at all.  It might clear the way to something.  But I have absolutely no belief in the power of Labour even to bring about anything so positive as bloodshed.

JOB ARTHUR.  I don’t know about that—­I don’t know.  Well.

GERALD.  Have another drink before you go.—­Yes, do.  Help yourself.

JOB ARTHUR.  Well—­if you’re so pressing. (Helps himself.) Here’s luck, all!

ALL.  Thanks.

GERALD.  Take a cigar—­there’s the box.  Go on—­take a handful—­fill your case.