Chapter 2

_The_ SCENE _represents the interior of_ HOBSON'S _Boot Shop in Chapel Street, Bedford. The shop windows and entrance from street occupy the left side. Facing the audience is the counter, with exhibits of boots and slippers, behind which the wall is fitted with racks containing boot boxes. Cane chairs in front of counter. There is a desk down L. with a chair. A door R. leads up to the house. In the centre of the stage is a trap leading to the cellar where work is done. There are no elaborate fittings. Gas brackets in the windows and walls. The business is prosperous, but to prosper in Salford in 1880 you did not require the elaborate accessories of a later day. A very important customer goes for fitting into_ HOBSON'S _sitting-room. The rank and file use the cane chairs in the shop, which is dingy but business-like. The windows exhibit little stock, and amongst what there is clogs figure prominently. Through the windows comes the bright light of noon._

Sitting behind the counter are_ HOBSON'S _two younger daughters,_ ALICE, R., _who is twenty-three, and_ VICTORIA, L., _who is twenty-one, and very pretty_. ALICE _is knitting and_ VICTORIA _is reading. They are in black, with neat black aprons. The door_ R. _opens, and_ MAGGIE _enters. She is_ HOBSON'S _eldest daughter, thirty_.

ALICE. Oh, it's you. I hoped it was father going out.

MAGGIE. It isn't. (_She crosses and takes her place at desk_ L.)

ALICE. He _is_ late this morning.

MAGGIE. He got up late. (_She busies herself with an account book_.)

VICKEY. (_reading_). Has he had breakfast yet, Maggie?

MAGGIE. Breakfast! With a Masons' meeting last night!

VICKEY. He'll need reviving.

ALICE. Then I wish he'd go and do it.

VICKEY. Are you expecting anyone, Alice?

ALICE. Yes, I am, and you know I am, and I'll thank you both to go when he comes.

VICKEY. Well, I'll oblige you, Alice, if father's gone out first, only you know I can't leave the counter till he goes.

(ALBERT PROSSER _enters from the street. He is twenty-six, nicely dressed, as the son of an established solicitor would be. He crosses to_ R. _and raises his hat to _ALICE.)

ALBERT. Good morning, Miss Alice.

ALICE. Good morning, Mr. Prosser. (_She leans across counter_.) Father's not gone out yet. He's late.

ALBERT. Oh! (_He turns to go, and is half-way to door, when MAGGIE rises_.)

MAGGIE (_coming_ C.). What can we do for you, Mr. Prosser?

ALBERT (_stopping_). Well, I can't say that I came in to buy anything, Miss Hobson.

MAGGIE. This is a shop, you know. We're not here to let people go out without buying.

ALBERT. Well, I'll just have a pair of bootlaces, please. (_Moves slightly to_ R.)

MAGGIE. What size do you take in boots?

ALBERT. Eights. I've got small feet. (_He simpers, then perceives that_ MAGGIE _is by no means smiling_.) Does that matter to the laces?

MAGGIE (_putting mat in front of arm-chair_ R. C.) It matters to the boots. (_She pushes him slightly_.) Sit down, Mr. Prosser.

ALBERT (_sitting in arm-chair_ R. C.) Yes, but--

(MAGGIE _is on her knees and takes off his boot_.)

MAGGIE. It's time you had a new pair. These uppers are disgraceful for a professional man to wear. Number eights from the third rack, Vickey, please.

ALICE (_moving down a little_). Mr. Prosser didn't come in to buy boots, Maggie.

(VICKEY _comes down to_ MAGGIE _with box which she opens_.)

MAGGIE. I wonder what does bring him in here so often!

(ALICE _moves back to behind counter_.)

ALBERT. I'm terrible hard on bootlaces, Miss Hobson.

(MAGGIE _puts a new boot on him and laces it_.)

MAGGIE. Do you get through a pair a day? You must be strong.

ALBERT. I keep a little stock of them. It's as well to be prepared for accidents.

MAGGIE. And now you'll have boots to go with the laces, Mr. Prosser. How does that feel?

ALBERT. Very comfortable.

MAGGIE. Try it standing up.

ALBERT (_trying and walking a few steps_). Yes, that fits all right.

MAGGIE. I'll put the other on.

ALBERT. Oh no, I really don't want to buy them.

MAGGIE (_pushing him_). Sit down, Mr. Prosser. You can't go through the streets in odd boots.

(ALICE _comes down again_.)

ALBERT. What's the price of these?

MAGGIE. A pound.

ALBERT. A pound! I say--

MAGGIE. They're good boots, and you don't need to buy a pair of laces to-day, because we give them in as discount. (VICKEY _goes back to counter_.) Braid laces, that is. Of course, if you want leather ones, you being so strong in the arm and breaking so many pairs, you can have them, only it's tuppence more.

ALBERT. These--these will do.

MAGGIE. Very well, you'd better have the old pair mended and I'll send them home to you with the bill. (_She has laced the second boot, rises, and moves towards desk_ L., _throwing the boot box at_ VICKEY, _who gives a little scream at the interruption of her reading_. ALBERT _gasps_.)

ALBERT. Well, if anyone had told me I was coming in here to spend a pound I'd have called him crazy.

MAGGIE. It's not wasted. Those boots will last. Good morning, Mr. Prosser. (_She holds door open_.)

ALBERT. Good morning. (_He looks blankly at_ ALICE _and goes out_.)

ALICE. Maggie, we know you're a pushing sales-woman, but--

MAGGIE (_returning to_ R. _she picks up old boots and puts them on rack up_ R.). It'll teach him to keep out of here a bit. He's too much time on his hands.

ALICE. You know why he comes.

MAGGIE. I know it's time he paid a rent for coming. A pair of laces a day's not half enough. Coming here to make sheep's eyes at you. I'm sick of the sight of him. (_Crosses in front of counter to_ L.)

ALICE. It's all very well for an old maid like you to talk, but if father won't have us go courting, where else can Albert meet me except here when father's out?

MAGGIE. If he wants to marry you why doesn't he do it?

ALICE. Courting must come first.

MAGGIE. It needn't. (_She picks up a slipper on desk_ L.). See that slipper with a fancy buckle on to make it pretty? Courting's like that, my lass. All glitter and no use to nobody. (_She replaces slipper and sits at her desk_.)

(HENRY HORATIO HOBSON _enters from the house. He is fifty-five, successful, coarse, florid, and a parent of the period. His hat is on. It is one of those felt hats which are half-way to tall hats in shape. He has a heavy gold chain and masonic emblems on it. His clothes are bought to wear_.)

HOBSON. Maggie, I'm just going out for a quarter of an hour. (_Moves over to doors_ L.)

MAGGIE. Yes, father. Don't be late for dinner. There's liver.

HOBSON. It's an hour off dinner-time. (_Going_.)

MAGGIE. So that, if you stay more than an hour in the Moonraker's Inn, you'll be late for it.

HOBSON. "Moonraker's?" Who said--? (_Turning_.)

VICKEY. If your dinner's ruined, it'll be your own fault.

HOBSON. Well, I'll be eternally--

ALICE. Don't swear, father.

HOBSON (_putting hat on counter_). No. I'll sit down instead. (_He moves to_ R. C. _and sits in arm-chair_ R. C. _facing them_.) Listen to me, you three. I've come to conclusions about you. And I won't have it. Do you hear that? Interfering with my goings out and comings in. The idea! I've a mind to take measures with the lot of you.

MAGGIE. I expect Mr. Heeler's waiting for you in "Moonraker's," father.

HOBSON. He can go on waiting. At present, I'm addressing a few remarks to the rebellious females of this house, and what I say will be listened to and heeded. I've noticed it coming on ever since your mother died. There's been a gradual increase of uppishness towards me.

VICKEY. Father, you'd have more time to talk after we've closed to-night. (_She is anxious to resume her reading_.)

HOBSON. I'm talking now, and you're listening. Providence has decreed that you should lack a mother's hand at the time when single girls grow bumptious and must have somebody to rule. But I'll tell you this, you'll none rule me.

VICKEY. I'm sure I'm not bumptious, father.

HOBSON. Yes, you are. You're pretty, but you're bumptious, and I hate bumptiousness like I hate a lawyer.

ALICE. If we take trouble to feed you it's not bumptious to ask you not to be late for your food.

VICKEY. Give and take, father.

HOBSON. I give and you take, and it's going to end.

MAGGIE. How much a week do you give us?

HOBSON. That's neither here nor there. (_Rises and moves to doors_ L.) At moment I'm on uppishness, and I'm warning you your conduct towards your parent's got to change. (_Turns to the counter_.) But that's not all. That's private conduct, and now I pass to broader aspects and I speak of public conduct. I've looked upon my household as they go about the streets, and I've been disgusted. The fair name and fame of Hobson have been outraged by members of Hobson's family, and uppishness has done it.

VICKEY. I don't know what you're talking about.

HOBSON. Vickey, you're pretty, but you can lie like a gas-meter. Who had new dresses on last week?

ALICE. I suppose you mean Vickey and me!

HOBSON. I do.

VICKEY. We shall dress as we like, father, and you can save your breath.

HOBSON. I'm not stopping in from my business appointment for the purpose of saving my breath.

VICKEY. You like to see me in nice clothes.

HOBSON. I do. I like to see my daughters nice. (_Crosses_ R.) That's why I pay Mr. Tudsbury, the draper, 10 pounds a year a head to dress you proper. It pleases the eye and it's good for trade. But, I'll tell you, if some women could see themselves as men see them, they'd have a shock, and I'll have words with Tudsbury an' all, for letting you dress up like guys. (_Moves_ L.) I saw you and Alice out of the "Moonraker's" parlour on Thursday night and my friend Sam Minns--(_Turns_.)

ALICE. A publican.

HOBSON. Aye, a publican. As honest a man as God Almighty ever set behind a bar, my ladies. My friend, Sam Minns, asked me who you were. And well he might. You were going down Chapel Street with a hump added to nature behind you.

VICKEY (_scandalized_). Father!

HOBSON. The hump was wagging, and you put your feet on pavement as if you'd got chilblains--aye, stiff neck above and weak knees below. It's immodest!

ALICE. It is not immodest, father. It's the fashion to wear bustles.

HOBSON. Then to hell with the fashion.

MAGGIE. Father, you are not in the "Moonraker's" now.

VICKEY. You should open your eyes to what other ladies wear. (_Rises_.)

HOBSON. If what I saw on you is any guide, I should do nowt of kind. I'm a decent-minded man. I'm Hobson. I'm British middle class and proud of it. I stand for common sense and sincerity. You're affected, which is bad sense and insincerity. You've overstepped nice dressing and you've tried grand dressing--(VICKEY _sits_)--which is the occupation of fools and such as have no brains. You forget the majesty of trade and the unparalleled virtues of the British Constitution which are all based on the sanity of the middle classes, combined with the diligence of the working-classes. You're losing balance, and you're putting the things which don't matter in front of the things which do, and if you mean to be a factor in the world in Lancashire or a factor in the house of Hobson, you'll become sane.

VICKEY. Do you want us to dress like mill girls?

HOBSON. No. Nor like French Madams, neither. It's un-English, I say.

ALICE. We shall continue to dress fashionably, father.

HOBSON. Then I've a choice for you two. Vickey, you I'm talking to, and Alice. You'll become sane if you're going on living here. You'll control this uppishness that's growing on you. And if you don't, you'll get out of this, and exercise your gifts on some one else than me. You don't know when you're well off. But you'll learn it when I'm done with you. I'll choose a pair of husbands for you, my girls. That's what I'll do.

ALICE. Can't we choose husbands for ourselves?

HOBSON. I've been telling you for the last five minutes you're not even fit to choose dresses for yourselves.

MAGGIE. You're talking a lot to Vickey and Alice, father. Where do I come in?

HOBSON. You? (_Turning on her, astonished_.)

MAGGIE. If you're dealing husbands round, don't I get one?

HOBSON. Well, that's a good one! (_Laughs_.) You with a husband! (_Down in front of desk_.)

MAGGIE. Why not?

HOBSON. Why not? I thought you'd sense enough to know. But if you want the brutal truth, you're past the marrying age. You're a proper old maid, Maggie, if ever there was one.

MAGGIE. I'm thirty.

HOBSON (_facing her_). Aye, thirty and shelved. Well, all the women can't get husbands. But you others, now. I've told you. I'll have less uppishness from you or else I'll shove you off my hands on to some other men. You can just choose which way you like. (_He picks up hat and makes for door_.)

MAGGIE. One o'clock dinner, father.

HOBSON. See here, Maggie,--(_back again down to in front of desk_)--I set the hours at this house. It's one o'clock dinner because I say it is, and not because you do.

MAGGIE. Yes, father.

HOBSON. So long as that's clear I'll go. (_He is by door_.) Oh no, I won't. Mrs. Hepworth's getting out of her carriage.

(_He puts hat on counter again_. MAGGIE _rises and opens door. Enter_ MRS. HEPWORTH, _an old lady with a curt manner and good clothes_.)

Good morning, Mrs. Hepworth. What a lovely day. (_He crosses_ R. _and places chair_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH (_sitting in arm-chair_ R. C.). Morning, Hobson. (_She raises her skirt_.) I've come about those boots you sent me home.

HOBSON (_kneeling on_ MRS. HEPWORTH'S R., _and fondling foot_. MAGGIE _is_ C.). Yes, Mrs. Hepworth. They look very nice.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Get up, Hobson. (_He scrambles up, controlling his feelings_.) You look ridiculous on the floor. Who made these boots?

HOBSON. We did. Our own make.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Will you answer a plain question? Who made these boots?

HOBSON. They were made on the premises.

MRS. HEPWORTH (_to_ MAGGIE). Young woman, you seemed to have some sense when you served me. Can you answer me?

MAGGIE. I think so, but I'll make sure for you, Mrs. Hepworth. (_She opens trap and calls_.) Tubby!

HOBSON (_down_ R.). You wish to see the identical workman, madam?

MRS. HEPWORTH. I said so.

HOBSON. I am responsible for all work turned out here.

MRS. HEPWORTH. I never said you weren't.

(TUBBY WADLOW _comes up trap. A white-haired little man with thin legs and a paunch, in dingy clothes with no collar and a coloured cotton shirt. He has no coat on_.)

TUBBY. Yes, Miss Maggie? (_He stands half out of trap, not coming right up_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH. Man, did you make these boots? (_She rises and advances one pace towards him_.)

TUBBY. No, ma'am.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Then who did? Am I to question every soul in the place before I find out? (_Looking round_.)

TUBBY. They're Willie's making, those.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Then tell Willie I want him.

TUBBY. Certainly, ma'am. (_He goes down trap and calls_ "Willie!")

MRS. HEPWORTH. Who's Willie?

HOBSON. Name of Mossop, madam. But if there is anything wrong I assure you I'm capable of making the man suffer for it. I'll--

(WILLIE MOSSOP _comes up trap. He is a lanky fellow, about thirty, not naturally stupid but stunted mentally by a brutalized childhood. He is a raw material of a charming man, but, at present, it requires a very keen eye to detect his potentialities. His clothes are an even poorer edition of_ TUBBY'S. _He comes half-way up trap_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH (_standing_ R. _of trap_). Are you Mossop?

WILLIE. Yes, mum.

MRS. HEPWORTH. You made these boots?

WILLIE (_peering at them_). Yes, I made them last week.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Take that.

(WILLIE, _bending down, rather expects "that" to be a blow. Then he raises his head and finds she is holding out a visiting card. He takes it_.)

See what's on it?

WILLIE (_bending over the card_). Writing?

MRS. HEPWORTH. Read it.

WILLIE. I'm trying. (_His lips move as he tries to spell it out_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH. Bless the man. Can't you read?

WILLIE. I do a bit. Only it's such funny print.

MRS. HEPWORTH. It's the usual italics of a visiting card, my man. Now listen to me. I heard about this shop, and what I heard brought me here for these boots. I'm particular about what I put on my feet.

HOBSON (_moving slightly towards her_). I assure you it shall not occur again, Mrs. Hepworth.

MRS. HEPWORTH. What shan't?

HOBSON (_crestfallen_). I--I don't know.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Then hold your tongue. Mossop, I've tried every shop in Manchester, and these are the best-made pair of boots I've ever had. Now, you'll make my boots in future. You hear that, Hobson?

(MAGGIE, _down_ L. C., _is taking it all in_.)

HOBSON. Yes, madam, of course he shall.

MRS. HEPWORTH. You'll keep that card, Mossop, and you won't dare leave here to go to another shop without letting me know where you are.

HOBSON. Oh, he won't make a change.

MRS. HEPWORTH. How do you know? The man's a treasure, and I expect you underpay him.

HOBSON. That'll do, Willie. You can go.

WILLIE. Yes, sir.

(_He dives down trap_. MAGGIE _closes it_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH. He's like a rabbit.

MAGGIE. Can I take your order for another pair of boots, Mrs. Hepworth?

MRS. HEPWORTH. Not yet, young woman. But I shall send my daughters here. And, mind you, that man's to make the boots. (_She crosses_ L.)

MAGGIE. (_Up at doors and opening them_.) Certainly, Mrs. Hepworth.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Good morning.

HOBSON. Good morning, Mrs. Hepworth. Very glad to have the honour of serving you, madam. (_Following her up_.)

(_She goes out_.)

(_Angry_.) I wish some people would mind their own business. What does she want to praise a workman to his face for? (_Moves down_ L. _and then to_ C.)

MAGGIE. I suppose he deserved it.

HOBSON. Deserved be blowed! Making them uppish. That's what it is. Last time she puts her foot in my shop, I give you my word.

MAGGIE. Don't be silly, father.

HOBSON. I'll show her. Thinks she owns the earth because she lives at Hope Hall.

(_Enter from street_ JIM HEELER, _who is a grocer, and_ HOBSON'S _boon companion_.)

JIM (_looking down street as he enters_). That's a bit of a startler.

HOBSON (_swinging round_). Eh? Oh, morning, Jim.

JIM. You're doing a good class trade if the carriage folk come to you, Hobson. (_Moves down_ L. C.)

HOBSON. What?

JIM. Wasn't that Mrs. Hepworth?

HOBSON. Oh yes. Mrs. Hepworth's an old and valued customer of mine.

JIM. It's funny you deal with Hope Hall and never mentioned it.

HOBSON. Why, I've made boots for her and all her circle for... how long, Maggie? Oh, I dunno.

JIM. You kept it dark. Well, aren't you coming round yonder? (_Moving up_ L.)

HOBSON (_reaching for his hat_). Yes. That is, no.

JIM. Are you ill?

HOBSON. No. Get away, you girls. I'll look after the shop. I want to talk to Mr. Heeler.

JIM. Well, can't you talk in the "Moonraker's"!

(_The girls go out_ R. _to house_, MAGGIE _last_.)

HOBSON. Yes, with Sam Minns, and Denton and Tudsbury there.

JIM. It's private, then. What's the trouble, Henry?

(HOBSON _waves_ JIM _into arm-chair_ R. C. _and sits in front of counter_.)

HOBSON. They're the trouble. (_Indicates door to house_.) Do your daughters worry you, Jim?

JIM. Nay,--(_sits_ R. C.)--they mostly do as I bid them, and the missus does the leathering if they don't.

HOBSON. Ah, Jim, a wife's a handy thing, and you don't know it proper till she's taken from you. I felt grateful for the quiet when my Mary fell on rest, but I can see my mistake now. I used to think I was hard put to it to fend her off when she wanted summat out of me, but the dominion of one woman is Paradise to the dominion of three.

JIM. It sounds a sad case, Henry.

HOBSON. I'm a talkative man by nature, Jim. You know that.

JIM. You're an orator, Henry. I doubt John Bright himself is better gifted of the gab than you.

HOBSON. Nay, that's putting it a bit too strong. A good case needs no flattery.

JIM. Well, you're the best debater in the "Moonraker's" parlour.

HOBSON. And that's no more than truth. Yes, Jim, in the estimation of my fellow men, I give forth words of weight. In the eyes of my daughters I'm a windbag. (_Rises and moves down_ L.).

JIM. Nay. Never!

HOBSON. I am. (_Turns_.) They scorn my wisdom, Jim. They answer back. I'm landed in a hole--a great and undignified hole. My own daughters have got the upper hand of me.

JIM. Women are worse than men for getting above themselves.

HOBSON. A woman's foolishness begins where man's leaves off.

JIM. They want a firm hand, Henry.

HOBSON. I've lifted up my voice and roared at them.

JIM. Beware of roaring at women, Henry. Roaring is mainly hollow sound. It's like trying to defeat an army with banging drums instead of cold steel. And it's steel in a man's character that subdues the women.

HOBSON. I've tried all ways, and I'm fair moithered. I dunno what to do. (_Scratches his head_.)

JIM. Then you quit roaring at 'em and get 'em wed. (_Rises_.)

HOBSON. I've thought of that. Trouble is to find the men.

JIM. Men's common enough. Are you looking for angels in breeches?

HOBSON. I'd like my daughters to wed temperance young men, Jim.

JIM. You keep your ambitions within reasonable limits, Henry. You've three daughters to find husbands for.

HOBSON. Two, Jim, two.

JIM. Two?

HOBSON. Vickey and Alice are mostly window dressing in the shop. But Maggie's too useful to part with. And she's a bit on the ripe side for marrying, is our Maggie.

JIM. I've seen 'em do it at double her age. Still, leaving her out, you've two.

HOBSON. One'll do for a start, Jim. (_Crosses to_ R.) It's a thing I've noticed about wenches. Get one wedding in a family and it goes through the lot like measles. (_Moves round chair to up_ R.)

JIM. Well, you want a man, and you want him temperance. It'll cost you a bit, you know. (_Sits in chair below_ L. _side of counter_.)

HOBSON (_going to him_). Eh? Oh, I'll get my hand down for the wedding all right.

JIM. A warm man like you 'ull have to do more than that. There's things called settlements.

HOBSON. Settlements?

JIM. Aye. You've to bait your hook to catch fish, Henry.

HOBSON. Then I'll none go fishing. (_Sits_.)

JIM. But you said--

HOBSON. I've changed my mind. I'd a fancy for a bit of peace, but there's luxuries a man can buy too dear. Settlements indeed!

JIM. I had a man in mind.

HOBSON. You keep him there, Jim. I'll rub along and chance it. Settlements indeed!

JIM. You save their keep.

HOBSON. They work for that. And they're none of them big eaters.

JIM. And their wages.

HOBSON. Wages? Do you think I pay wages to my own daughters? (_Rises and goes to desk_ L.) I'm not a fool.

JIM. Then it's all off? (_Rises_.)

HOBSON (_turns_). From the moment that you breathed the word "settlements" it was dead off, Jim. Let's go to the "Moonraker's" and forget there's such a thing as women in the world. (_He takes up hat and rings bell on counter_.) Shop! Shop!

(MAGGIE _enters from_ R.)

I'm going out, Maggie.

MAGGIE (_She remains by door_). Dinner's at one, remember.

HOBSON. Dinner will be when I come in for it. I'm master here. (_Moves to go_.)

MAGGIE. Yes, father. One o'clock.

HOBSON (_disgusted_.) Come along, Jim.

(JIM _and_ HOBSON _go out to street_. MAGGIE _turns to speak inside_ R. _door_.) MAGGIE. Dinner at half-past one, girls. We'll give him half an hour. (_She closes door, turns arm-chair facing C. and moves to trap, which she raises_.) Willie, come here.

(_In a moment_ WILLIE _appears, and stops half-way up_.)

WILLIE. Yes, Miss Maggie?

MAGGIE (L. _of trap_.) Come up, and put the trap down, I want to talk to you.

(_He comes, reluctantly_.)

WILLIE. We're very busy in the cellar.

(MAGGIE _points to trap. He closes it_.)

MAGGIE. Show me your hands, Willie.

WILLIE. They're dirty. (_He holds them out hesitatingly_.)

MAGGIE. Yes, they're dirty, but they're clever. They can shape the leather like no other man's that ever came into the shop. Who taught you, Willie? (_She retains his hands_.)

WILLIE. Why, Miss Maggie, I learnt my trade here.

MAGGIE. Hobson's never taught you to make boots the way you do.

WILLIE. I've had no other teacher.

MAGGIE (_dropping his hands_.) And needed none. You're a natural born genius at making boots. It's a pity you're a natural fool at all else.

WILLIE. I'm not much good at owt but leather, and that's a fact.

MAGGIE. When are you going to leave Hobson's?

WILLIE. Leave Hobson's? I--I thought I gave satisfaction.

MAGGIE. Don't you want to leave?

WILLIE. Not me. I've been at Hobson's all my life, and I'm not for leaving till I'm made.

MAGGIE. I said you were a fool.

WILLIE. Then I'm a loyal fool.

MAGGIE. Don't you want to get on, Will Mossop? You heard what Mrs. Hepworth said. You know the wages you get and you know the wages a bootmaker like you could get in one of the big shops in Manchester.

WILLIE. Nay, I'd be feared to go in them fine places.

MAGGIE. What keeps you here? Is it the--the people?

WILLIE. I dunno what it is. I'm used to being here.

MAGGIE. Do you know what keeps this business on its legs? Two things: one's the good boots you make that sell themselves, the other's the bad boots other people make and I sell. We're a pair, Will Mossop.

WILLIE. You're a wonder in the shop, Miss Maggie.

MAGGIE. And you're a marvel in the workshop. Well?

WILLIE. Well, what?

MAGGIE. It seems to me to point one way.

WILLIE. What way is that?

MAGGIE. You're leaving me to do the work, my lad.

WILLIE. I'll be getting back to my stool, Miss Maggie. (_Moves to trap_.)

MAGGIE (_stopping him_). You'll go back when I've done with you. I've watched you for a long time and everything I've seen, I've liked. I think you'll do for me.

WILLIE. What way, Miss Maggie?

MAGGIE. Will Mossop, you're my man. Six months I've counted on you and it's got to come out some time.

WILLIE. But I never--

MAGGIE. I know you never, or it 'ud not be left to me to do the job like this.

WILLIE. I'll--I'll sit down. (_He sits in arm-chair, mopping his brow_.) I'm feeling queer-like. What dost want me for?

MAGGIE. To invest in. You're a business idea in the shape of a man.

WILLIE. I've got no head for business at all.

MAGGIE. But I have. My brain and your hands 'ull make a working partnership.

WILLIE (_getting up, relieved_). Partnership! Oh, that's a different thing. I thought you were axing me to wed you. (_Moves up stage_.)

MAGGIE. I am.

WILLIE (_sitting in front of counter_). Well, by gum! And you the master's daughter.

MAGGIE. Maybe that's why, Will Mossop. (_Moving up stage_.) Maybe I've had enough of father, and you're as different from him as any man I know. (_Sits_ L. _of him_.)

WILLIE. It's a bit awkward-like.

MAGGIE. And you don't help me any, lad. What's awkward about it?

WILLIE. You talking to me like this.

MAGGIE. I'll tell you something, Will. It's a poor sort of woman who'll stay lazy when she sees her best chance slipping from her. A Salford life's too near the bone to lose things through the fear of speaking out.

WILLIE. I'm your best chance?

MAGGIE. You are that, Will.

WILLIE. Well, by gum! (_Rises_.) I never thought of this.

MAGGIE. Think of it now.

WILLIE. I am doing. Only the blow's a bit too sudden to think very clear. I've a great respect for you, Miss Maggie. You're a shapely body, and you're a masterpiece at selling in the shop, but when it comes to marrying, I'm bound to tell you that I'm none in love with you.

MAGGIE. Wait till you're asked. (_Rises_.) I want your hand in mine and your word for it that you'll go through life with me for the best we can get out of it.

WILLIE. We'd not get much without there's love between us, lass.

MAGGIE. I've got the love all right.

WILLIE. Well, I've not, and that's honest.

MAGGIE. We'll get along without.

WILLIE. You're desperate set on this. It's a puzzle to me all ways. What 'ud your father say?

MAGGIE. He'll say a lot, and he can say it. It'll make no difference to me.

WILLIE. Much better not upset him. It's not worth while.

MAGGIE. I'm judge of that. You're going to wed me, Will.

WILLIE. Oh, nay, I'm not. Really I can't do that, Maggie. I can see that I'm disturbing your arrangements like, but I'll be obliged if you'll put this notion from you.

MAGGIE. When I make arrangements, my lad, they're not made for upsetting.

WILLIE. What makes it so desperate awkward is that I'm tokened.

MAGGIE. You're what?

WILLIE. I'm tokened to Ada Figgins.

MAGGIE. Then you'll get loose and quick. Who's Ada Figgins? Do I know her? (_Moves_ L. _and turns_.)

WILLIE. I'm the lodger at her mother's.

MAGGIE. The scheming hussy. It's not that sandy gill who brings your dinner? (_Moves_ C.)

WILLIE. She's golden-haired is Ada. Aye, she'll be here soon.

MAGGIE. And so shall I. I'll talk to Ada. I've seen her and I know the breed. Ada's the helpless sort. (_Turns_ L.)

WILLIE. She needs protecting.

MAGGIE. That's how she got you, was it? (_Turns_ C.) Yes, I can see her clinging round your neck until you fancied you were strong. But I'll tell you this, my lad, it's a desperate poor kind of a woman that'll look for protection to the likes of you.

WILLIE. Ada does.

MAGGIE. And that gives me the weight of her. She's born to meekness, Ada is. You wed her, and you'll be an eighteen shilling a week bootmaker all the days of your life. You'll be a slave, and a contented slave.

WILLIE. I'm not ambitious that I know of.

MAGGIE. No. But you're going to be. I'll see to that. I've got my work cut out, but there's the makings of a man about you.

WILLIE. I wish you'd leave me alone. (_Sits_ R.)

MAGGIE. So does the fly when the spider catches him. You're my man, Willie Mossop. (_Moves to desk_.)

WILLIE. Aye, so you say. Ada would tell another story, though.

(ADA FIGGINS _enters from street. She is not ridiculous, but a weak, poor-blooded, poor-spirited girl of twenty, in clogs and shawl, with_ WILLIE'S _dinner in a basin carried in a blue handkerchief. She crosses to him and gives him the basin_.)

ADA (C.). There's your dinner, Will.

WILLIE. Thank you, Ada. (_Rises_.)

(_She turns to go, and finds_ MAGGIE _in her way_.)

MAGGIE. I want a word with you. You're treading on my foot, young woman.

ADA. Me, Miss Hobson? (_She looks stupidly at_ MAGGIE'S _feet_.)

MAGGIE. What's this with you and him?

ADA (_gushing_). Oh, Miss 'Obson, it is good of you to take notice like that.

WILLIE. Ada, she--

MAGGIE. You hold your hush. This is for me and her to settle. Take a fair look at him, Ada.

ADA. At Will?

MAGGIE (_nodding_). Not much for two women to fall out over, is there?

ADA. Maybe he's not so much to look at, but you should hear him play.

MAGGIE. Play? Are you a musician, Will?

WILLIE. I play the Jew's harp.

MAGGIE. That's what you see in him, is it? A gawky fellow that plays the Jew's harp?

ADA. I see the lad I love, Miss 'Obson.

MAGGIE. It's a funny thing, but I can say the same.

ADA. You!

WILLIE. That's what I've been trying to tell you, Ada, and--and, by gum, she'll have me from you if you don't be careful.

MAGGIE. So we're quits so far, Ada.

ADA. You'll pardon me. You've spoke too late. Will and me's tokened. (_She takes his arm_.)

MAGGIE. That's the past. It's the future that I'm looking to. What's your idea for that?

ADA. You mind your own business, Miss 'Obson. Will Mossop's no concern of thine.

WILLIE. That's what I try to tell her myself, only she will have it it's no use.

MAGGIE. Not an atom. I've asked for your idea of Willie's future. If it's a likelier one than mine, I'll give you best and you can have the lad.

ADA. I'm trusting him to make the future right.

MAGGIE. It's as bad as I thought it was. Willie, you wed me.

ADA (_weakly_). It's daylight robbery. (_Moves slightly_ L.)

WILLIE. Aren't you going to put up a better fight for me than that, Ada? You're fair giving me to her.

MAGGIE. Will Mossop, you take your orders from me in this shop. I've told you you'll wed me.

WILLIE. Seems like there's no escape. (_Sits in arm-chair_.)

ADA (_angry_). Wait while I get you to home, my lad. I'll set my mother on to you.

MAGGIE. Oh, so it's her mother made this match!

WILLIE. She had above a bit to do with it.

MAGGIE. I've got no mother, Will.

WILLIE. You need none, neither.

MAGGIE. Well, can I sell you a pair of clogs, Miss Figgins?

ADA. No. Nor anything else.

MAGGIE. Then you've no business here, have you? (_Moves up to doors and opens them_.)

ADA (_going to him_). Will, are you going to see me ordered out?

WILLIE. It's her shop, Ada.

ADA. You mean I'm to go like this?

WILLIE. She means it.

ADA. It's cruel hard. (_Moves towards doors_.)

MAGGIE. When it comes to a parting, it's best to part sudden and no whimpering about it.

ADA. I'm not whimpering, and I'm not parting, neither. But he'll whimper to-night when my mother sets about him. (_Slight movement back to him_.)

MAGGIE. That'll do.

ADA (_in almost a scream_). Will Mossop, I'm telling you, you'll come home to-night to a thick ear.

(_She goes_.)

WILLIE (_rising_). I'd really rather wed Ada, Maggie, if it's all same to you.

MAGGIE. Why? Because of her mother?

WILLIE. She's a terrible rough side to her tongue, has Mrs. Figgins.

MAGGIE. Are you afraid of her?

WILLIE (_hesitates, then says_). Yes.

MAGGIE. You needn't be.

WILLIE. Yes, but you don't know her. She'll jaw me till I'm black in the face when I go home to-night.

MAGGIE. You won't go home to-night.

WILLIE. Not go?

MAGGIE. You've done with lodging there. You'll go to Tubby Wadlow's when you knock off work and Tubby'll go round to Mrs. Figgins for your things.

WILLIE. And I'm not to go back there never no more?

MAGGIE. No.

WILLIE. It's like an 'appy dream. Eh, Maggie, you do manage things.

(_He opens the trap_.)

MAGGIE. And while Tubby's there you can go round and see about putting the banns up for us two.

WILLIE. Banns! Oh, but I'm hardly used to the idea yet. (_A step down_.)

MAGGIE. You'll have three weeks to get used to it in. Now you can kiss me, Will.

WILLIE. That's forcing things a bit, and all. It's like saying I agree to everything, a kiss is.

MAGGIE. Yes.

WILLIE. And I don't agree yet. I'm--

MAGGIE. Come along.

(ALICE, _then_ VICKEY _enter_ R.)

Do what I tell you, Will.

WILLIE. Now? With them here?

MAGGIE. Yes.

WILLIE (_pause_). I couldn't. (_He dives for trap, runs down, and closes it_.)

ALICE. What's the matter with Willie?

MAGGIE. He's a bit upset because I've told him he's to marry me. Is dinner cooking nicely? (_To desk_, L.)

ALICE. You're going to marry Willie Mossop! Willie Mossop!

VICKEY. You've kept it quiet, Maggie.

MAGGIE. You know about it pretty near as soon as Willie does himself.

VICKEY. Well, I don't know!

ALICE. I know, and if you're afraid to speak your thoughts, I'm not. Look here, Maggie--(_moving to_ L. C.),--what you do touches us, and you're mistaken if you think I'll own Willie Mossop for my brother-in-law.

MAGGIE. Is there supposed to be some disgrace in him?

ALICE. You ask father if there's disgrace. And look at me. I'd hopes of Albert Prosser till this happened.

MAGGIE. You'll marry Albert Prosser when he's able, and that'll be when ho starts spending less on laundry bills and hair cream. (_Goes to_ R.)

(HOBSON _enters from the street_.)

HOBSON. Well, what about that dinner? (_Comes_ C.)

(_The positions are_ MAGGIE R., VICKEY _up_ R. C., HOBSON _up_ C., ALICE L. C.) MAGGIE. It'll be ready in ten minutes.

HOBSON. You said one o'clock.

MAGGIE. Yes, father. One for half-past. If you'll wash your hands, it'll be ready as soon as you are.

HOBSON. I won't wash my hands. I don't hold with such finicking ways, and well you know it. (_Sits in front of counter_.)

VICKEY. Father, have you heard the news about our Maggie? (_Down_ R. C.)

HOBSON. News? There is no news. It's the same old tale. Uppishness. You'd keep a starving man from the meat he earns in the sweat of his brow, would you? I'll put you in your places. I'll--(_Rises_.)

MAGGIE. Don't lose your temper, father. You'll maybe need it soon when Vickey speaks. (_Moves down_ R.)

HOBSON. What's Vickey been doing?

VICKEY. Nothing. It's about Will Mossop, father.

HOBSON. Will?

ALICE. Yes. What's your opinion of Will?

HOBSON. A decent lad. I've nowt against him that I know of.

ALICE. Would you like him in the family?

HOBSON. Whose family? (_Coming down_ C.)

VICKEY. Yours.

MAGGIE. I'm going to marry Willie, father. That's what all the fuss is about.

HOBSON. Marry--you--Mossop? (_Moves to her_.)

MAGGIE. You thought me past the marrying age. I'm not. That's all.

HOBSON. Didn't you hear me say I'd do the choosing when it came to a question of husbands?

MAGGIE. You said I was too old to get a husband.

HOBSON. You are. You all are.

VICKEY. Father!

HOBSON. (_crossing to_ C.) And if you're not, it makes no matter. I'll have no husbands here.

(VICKEY R., ALICE L. _of_ HOBSON.)

ALICE. But you said--

HOBSON. I've changed my mind. I've learnt some things since then. There's a lot too much expected of a father nowadays. There'll be no weddings here.

ALICE. Oh, father!

HOBSON (_taking them down_). Go and get my dinner served and talk less. Go on now. I'm not in right temper to be crossed.

(_He drives_ ALICE _and_ VICKEY _before him. They go out protesting loudly. But MAGGIE stands in his way as he follows and she closes the door. She looks at him from the stair_.)

MAGGIE. You and I 'ull be straight with one another, father. I'm not a fool and you're not a fool, and things may as well be put in their places as left untidy.

HOBSON. I tell you my mind's made up. You can't have Willie Mossop. Why, lass, his father was a workhouse brat. A come-by-chance. (_Moves_ C.)

MAGGIE. It's news to me we're snobs in Salford. I have Willie Mossop. I've to settle my life's course, and a good course, too, so think on.

HOBSON. I'd be the laughing-stock of the place if I allowed it. I won't have it, Maggie. It's hardly decent at your time of life.

MAGGIE. I'm thirty and I'm marrying Willie Mossop. And now I'll tell you my terms.

HOBSON. You're in a nice position to state terms, my lass.

MAGGIE. You will pay my man, Will Mossop, the same wages as before. And as for me, I've given you the better part of twenty years of work without wages. I'll work eight hours a day in future and you will pay me fifteen shillings by the week.

HOBSON. Do you think I'm made of brass?

MAGGIE. You'll soon be made of less than you are if you let Willie go. And if Willie goes, I go. That's what you've got to face.

HOBSON. I might face it, Maggie. Shop hands are cheap.

MAGGIE. Cheap ones are cheap. The sort you'd have to watch all day, and you'd feel happy helping them to tie up parcels and sell laces with Tudsbury and Heeler and Minns supping their ale without you. I'm value to you, so's my man; and you can boast it at the "Moonraker's" that your daughter Maggie's made the strangest, finest match a woman's made this fifty year. And you can put your hand in your pocket and do what I propose.

HOBSON. I'll show you what I propose, Maggie. (_He lifts trap and calls_.) Will Mossop! (_He places hat on counter and unbuckles belt_.) I cannot leather you, my lass. You're female, and exempt, but I can leather him. Come up, Will Mossop.

(WILL _comes up trap and closes it_.)

You've taken up with my Maggie, I hear. (_He conceals strap_.)

WILLIE. Nay, I've not. She's done the taking up.

HOBSON. Well, Willie, either way, you've fallen on misfortune. Love's led you astray, and I feel bound to put you right. (_Shows strap_.)

WILLIE. Maggie, what's this? (_Moves down_ R. _a little_.)

MAGGIE. I'm watching you, my lad.

HOBSON. Mind, Willie, you can keep your job. I don't bear malice, but we must beat the love from your body, and every morning you come here to work with love still sitting in you, you'll get a leathering. (_Getting ready to strike_.)

WILLIE. You'll not beat love in me. You're making a great mistake, Mr. Hobson, and--

HOBSON. You'll put aside your weakness for my Maggie if you've a liking for a sound skin. You'll waste a gradely lot of brass at chemist's if I am at you for a week with this. (_He swings the strap_.)

WILLIE. I'm none wanting thy Maggie, it's her that's after me, but I'll tell you this, Mr. Hobson--(_seizing_ MAGGIE _roughly by the arm_),--if you touch me with that belt, I'll take her quick, aye, and stick to her like glue.

HOBSON. There's nobbut one answer to that kind of talk, my lad. (_He strikes with belt_. MAGGIE _shrinks_.)

WILLIE. And I've nobbut one answer back. Maggie, I've none kissed you yet. I shirked before. But, by gum, I'll kiss you now--(_he kisses her quickly, with temper, not with passion, as quickly leaves her, to face_ HOBSON)-and take you and hold you. And if Mr. Hobson raises up that strap again, I'll do more. I'll walk straight out of shop with thee and us two 'ull set up for ourselves.

MAGGIE. Willie! I knew you had it in you, lad. (_She puts her arm round his neck. He is quite unresponsive. His hands fall limply to his sides_.)

(HOBSON _stands in amazed indecision_.)

CURTAIN.