VOICES: Ay — serve him right — serve the beggar right! Shove it down ‘s throttle — ay!
WILLIE: Supposing you do it — supposing you’ve done it — and supposing you aren’t caught and punished — even supposing that — what are you going to do next? that’s the point.
JOB ARTHUR: We know what we’re going to do. Once we can get our hands free, we know what we’re going to do.
WILLIE: Yes, so do I. You’re either going to make such a mess that we shall never get out of it — which I don’t think you will do, for the English working man is the soul of obedience and order, and he’d behave himself to-morrow as if he was at Sunday school, no matter what he does to-day. — No, what you’ll do, Job Arthur, you’ll set up another lot of masters, such a jolly sight worse than what we’ve got now. I’d rather be mastered by Gerald Barlow, if it comes to mastering, than by Job Arthur Freer — oh, such a lot! You’ll be far less free with Job Arthur for your boss than ever you were with Gerald Barlow. You’ll be far more degraded. — In fact, though I’ve preached socialism in the market-place for thirty years — if you’re going to start killing the masters to set yourselves up for bosses — why, kill me along with the masters. For I’d rather die with somebody who has one tiny little spark of decency left — though it is a little tiny spark — than live to triumph with those that have none.
VOICES: Shut thy face, Houghton — shut it up — shut him up — hustle the beggar! Hoi! — hoi-ee! — whoo! — whoam-it, whoam-it! — whoo! — bow-wow! — wet-whiskers! —
WILLIE: And it’s no use you making fools of yourselves — (His words are heard through an ugly, jeering, cold commotion.)
VOICE (loudly): He’s comin’.
VOICES: Who?
VOICE: Barlow. — See ‘s motor? — comin’ up — sithee?
WILLIE: If you’ve any sense left — (Suddenly and violently disappears.)
VOICES: Sorry! — he’s comin’ — ’s comin’ — sorry, ah! Who’s in? — That’s Turton drivin’ — yi, he’s behind wi’ a woman — ah, he’s comin’ — he’ll non go back — hold on. Sorry! — wheer’s ‘e comin’? — up from Loddo — ay — (The cries die down — the motor car slowly comes into sight, OLIVER driving, GERALD and ANABEL behind. The men stand in a mass in the way.)
OLIVER: Mind yourself, there. (Laughter.)
GERALD: Go ahead, Oliver.
VOICE: What’s yer ‘urry?
Crowd sways and surges on the car. OLIVER is suddenly dragged out. GERALD stands up — he, too, is seized from behind — he wrestles — is torn out of his great-coat — then falls — disappears. Loud cries — ”Hi! — hoi! — hoi-ee!” all the while. The car shakes and presses uneasily.
VOICE: Stop the blazin’ motor, somebody.
VOICE: Here y’are! — hold a minute. (A man jumps in and stops the engine — he drops in the driver’s seat.)
COLLIER (outside the car): Step down, miss.
ANABEL: I am Mrs Barlow.
COLLIER: Missis, then. (Laugh.) Step down — lead ‘er forrard. Take ‘em forrard — take ‘em forrard.
JOB ARTHUR: Ay, make a road.
GERALD: You’re makin’ a proper fool of yourself now, Freer.
JOB ARTHUR: You’ve brought it on yourself. You’ve made fools of plenty of men.
COLLIERS: Come on, now — come on! Whoa! — whoa! — he’s a jibber — go pretty now, go pretty!
VOICES (suddenly): Lay hold o’ Houghton — nab ‘im — seize ‘im — rats! — rats! — bring ‘im forrard!
ANABEL (in a loud, clear voice): I never knew anything so ridiculous.
VOICES (falsetto): Ridiculous! Oh, ridiculous! Mind the step, dear! — I’m Mrs Barlow! — Oh, are you? — Tweet — tweet!
JOB ARTHUR: Make a space, boys, make a space. (He stands with prisoners in a cleared space before the obelisk.) Now — now — quiet a minute — we want to ask a few questions of these gentlemen.
VOICES: Quiet! — quiet — Sh-h-h! Sh-h-h! — Answer pretty — answer pretty now! — Quiet! — Shh-h-h!
JOB ARTHUR: We want to ask you, Mr Gerald Barlow, why you have given occasion for this present trouble?
GERALD: You are a fool.
VOICES: Oh! — oh! — naughty Barlow! — naughty baa-lamb — answer pretty — answer pretty — be good baa-lamb — baa — baa! — answer pretty when gentleman asks you.
JOB ARTHUR: Quiet a bit. Sh-h-h! — We put this plain question to you, Mr Barlow. Why did you refuse to give the clerks this just and fair advance, when you knew that by refusing you would throw three thousand men out of employment?
GERALD: You are a fool, I say.
VOICES: Oh! — oh! — won’t do — won’t do, Barlow — wrong answer — wrong answer — be good baa-lamb — naughty boy — naughty boy!
JOB ARTHUR: Quiet a bit — now! — If three thousand men ask you a just, straightforward question, do you consider they’ve no right to an answer?
GERALD: I would answer you with my foot.
VOICES (amid a threatening scuffle): Da-di-da! Hark ye — hark ye! Oh — whoa — whoa a bit! — won’t do! — won’t do! — naughty — naughty — say you’re sorry — say you’re sorry — kneel and say you’re sorry — kneel and beg pardon!
JOB ARTHUR: Hold on a bit — keep clear!
VOICES: Make him kneel — make him kneel — on his knees with him!
JOB ARTHUR: I think you’d better kneel down.
The crowd press on GERALD — he struggles — they hit him behind the knees, force him down.
OLIVER: This is shameful and unnecessary.
VOICES: All of ‘em — on your knees — all of ‘em — on their knees!
They seize OLIVER and WILLIE and ANABEL, hustling. ANABEL kneels quietly — the others struggle.
WILLIE: Well, of all the damned, dirty, cowardly —
VOICES: Shut up, Houghton — shut him up — squeeze him!
OLIVER: Get off me — let me alone — I’ll kneel.
VOICES: Good little doggies — nice doggies — kneel and beg pardon — yap-yap — answer — make him answer!
JOB ARTHUR (holding up his hand for silence): It would be better if you answered straight off, Barlow. We want to know why you prevented that advance?
VOICES (after a pause): Nip his neck! Make him yelp!
OLIVER: Let me answer, then. — Because it’s worse, perhaps, to be bullied by three thousand men than by one man.
VOICES: Oh! — oh! — dog keeps barking — stuff his mouth — stop him up — here’s a bit of paper — answer. Barlow — nip his neck — stuff his mug — make him yelp — cork the bottle!
They press a lump of newspaper into OLIVER’S mouth, and bear down on GERALD.
JOB ARTHUR: Quiet — quiet — quiet — a minute, everybody. We give him a minute — we give him a minute to answer.
VOICES: Give him a minute — a holy minute — say your prayers, Barlow — you’ve got a minute — tick-tick, says the clock — time him!
JOB ARTHUR: Keep quiet.
WILLIE: Of all the damned, cowardly —
VOICES: Sh-h-h! — Squeeze him — throttle him! Silence is golden, Houghton. — Close the shutters, Willie’s dead. — Dry up, wet-whiskers!
JOB ARTHUR: You’ve fifteen seconds.
VOICES: There’s a long, long trail a-winding —
JOB ARTHUR: The minute’s up. — We ask you again, Gerald Barlow, why you refused a just and fair demand, when you know it was against the wishes of three thousand men all as good as yourself?
VOICES: And a sight better — I don’t think — we’re not all vermin — we’re not all crawlers, living off the sweat of other folks — we’re not all parish vermin — parish vermin.
JOB ARTHUR: And on what grounds you think you have no occasion to answer the straightforward question we put you here?
ANABEL (after a pause): Answer them, Gerald. What’s the use of prolonging this?
GERALD: I’ve nothing to answer.
VOICES: Nothing to answer — Gerald, darling —
Gerald, duckie — oh, lovey-dovey — I’ve nothing to answer — no, by God — no, by God, he hasna — nowt to answer — ma’e him find summat, then — answer for him — gi’e him ‘s answer — let him ha’e it — go on — mum — mum — lovey-dovey — rub his nose in it — kiss the dirt, ducky — bend him down — rub his nose in — he’s saying something — oh no, he isn’t — sorry I spoke — bend him down!
JOB ARTHUR: Quiet a bit — quiet, everybody — he’s got to answer — keep quiet. — Now — (A silence.) Now then, Barlow, will you answer, or won’t you? (Silence.)
ANABEL: Answer them, Gerald — never mind.
VOICES: Sh-h-h! Sh-h-h! (Silence.)
JOB ARTHUR: You won’t answer, Barlow?
VOICE: Down the beggar!
VOICES: Down him — put his nose down — flatten him!
The crowd surges and begins to howl — they sway dangerously — GERALD is spread-eagled on the ground, face down.
JOB ARTHUR: Back — back — back a minute — back — back! (They recoil.)
WILLIE: I hope there’s a God in heaven.
VOICES: Put him down — flatten him!
WILLIE is flattened on the ground.
JOB ARTHUR: Now then — now then — if you won’t answer, Barlow, I can’t stand here for you any more. — Take your feet off him, boys, and turn him over. Turn him over — let us look at him. Let us see if he can speak. (They turn him over, with another scuffle.) Now then, Barlow — you can see the sky above you. Now do you think you’re going to play with three thousand men, with their lives and with their souls? — now do you think you’re going to answer them with your foot? — do you — do you?
The crowd has begun to sway and heave dangerously, with a low, muffled roar, above which is heard JOB ARTHUR’S voice. As he ceases, the roar breaks into a yell — the crowd heaves.
VOICES: Down him — crack the vermin — on top of him — put your foot on the vermin!
ANABEL (with a loud, piercing cry, suddenly starting up): Ah no! Ah no! Ah-h-h-h no-o-o-o! Ah-h-h-h no-o-o-o! Ah-h-h-h no-o-o-o! No-o-o-o! No-o-o-o! No-o! No-o-o! — Ah-h-h-h! — it’s enough, it’s enough, it’s enough! It’s enough — he’s a man as you are. He’s a man as you are. He’s a man as you are. He’s a man as you are. (Weeps — a breath of silence.)
OLIVER: Let us stop now — let us stop now. Let me stand up. (Silence.) I want to stand up. (A muffled noise.)
VOICE: Let him get up. (OLIVER rises.)
OLIVER: Be quiet. Be quiet. — Now — choose! Choose! Choose! Choose what you will do! Only choose! Choose! — it will be irrevocable. (A moment’s pause.) Thank God we haven’t gone too far. — Gerald, get up. (Men still hold him down.)
JOB ARTHUR: Isn’t he to answer us? Isn’t he going to answer us?
OLIVER: Yes, he shall answer you. He shall answer you. But let him stand up. No more of this. Let him stand up. He must stand up. (Men still hold GERALD down. OLIVER takes hold of their hands and removes them.) Let go — let go now. Yes, let go — yes — I ask you to let go. (Slowly, sullenly, the men let go. GERALD is free, but he does not move.) There — get up, Gerald! Get up! You aren’t hurt, are you? You must get up — it’s no use. We’re doing our best — you must do yours. When things are like this, we have to put up with what we get. (GERALD rises slowly and faces the mob. They roar dully.) You ask why the clerks didn’t get this increase? Wait! Wait! Do you still wish for any answer, Mr Freer?
JOB ARTHUR: Yes, that’s what we’ve been waiting for.
OLIVER: Then answer, Gerald.
GERALD: They’ve trodden on my face.
OLIVER: No matter. Job Arthur will easily answer that you’ve trodden on their souls. Don’t start an altercation. (The crowd is beginning to roar.)
GERALD: You want to know why the clerks didn’t get their rise? — Because you interfered and attempted to bully about it, do you see. That’s why.
VOICES: You want bullying. — You’ll get bullying, you will.
OLIVER: Can’t you see it’s no good, either side? It’s no mortal use. We might as well all die to-morrow, or to-day, or this minute, as go on bullying one another, one side bullying the other side, and the other side bullying back. We’d better all die.
WILLIE: And a great deal better. I’m damned if I’ll take sides with anybody against anything, after this. If I’m to die, I’ll die by myself. As for living, it seems impossible.
JOB ARTHUR: Have the men nothing to be said for their side?
OLIVER: They have a great deal — but not everything, you see.
JOB ARTHUR: Haven’t they been wronged? And aren’t they wronged?
OLIVER: They have — and they are. But haven’t they been wrong themselves, too? — and aren’t they wrong now?
JOB ARTHUR: How?
OLIVER: What about this affair? Do you call it right?
JOB ARTHUR: Haven’t we been driven to it?
OLIVER: Partly. And haven’t you driven the masters to it, as well?
JOB ARTHUR: I don’t see that.
OLIVER: Can’t you see that it takes two to make a quarrel? And as long as each party hangs on to its own end of the stick, and struggles to get full hold of the stick, the quarrel will continue. It will continue till you’ve killed one another. And even then, what better shall you be? What better would you be, really, if you’d killed Gerald Barlow just now? You wouldn’t, you know. We’re all human beings, after all. And why can’t we try really to leave off struggling against one another, and set up a new state of things?
JOB ARTHUR: That’s all very well, you see, while you’ve got the goods.
OLIVER: I’ve got very little, I assure you.
JOB ARTHUR: Well, if you haven’t, those you mix with have. They’ve got the money, and the power, and they intend to keep it.
OLIVER: As for power, somebody must have it, you know. It only rests with you to put it into the hands of the best men, the men you really believe in. — And as for money, it’s life, it’s living that matters, not simply having money.
JOB ARTHUR: You can’t live without money.
OLIVER: I know that. And therefore why can’t we have the decency to agree simply about money — just agree to dispose of it so that all men could live their own lives.
JOB ARTHUR: That’s what we want to do. But the others, such as Gerald Barlow, they keep the money — and the power.
OLIVER: You see, if you wanted to arrange things so that money flowed more naturally, so that it flowed naturally to every man, according to his needs, I think we could all soon agree. But you don’t. What you want is to take it away from one set and give it to another — or keep it yourselves.
JOB ARTHUR: We want every man to have his proper share.
OLIVER: I’m sure I do. I want every man to be able to live and be free. But we shall never manage it by fighting over the money. If you want what is natural and good, I’m sure the owners would soon agree with you.
JOB ARTHUR: What? Gerald Barlow agree with us?
OLIVER: Why not? I believe so.
JOB ARTHUR: You ask him.
OLIVER: Do you think, Gerald, that if the men really wanted a whole, better way, you would agree with them?
GERALD: I want a better way myself — but not their way.
JOB ARTHUR: There, you see!
VOICES: Ah-h! look you! — That’s him — that’s him all over.
OLIVER: You want a better way, — but not his way: he wants a better way — but not your way. Why can’t you both drop your buts, and simply say you want a better way, and believe yourselves and one another when you say it? Why can’t you?
GERALD: Look here! I’m quite as tired of my way of life as you are of yours. If you make me believe you want something better, then I assure you I do: I want what you want. But Job Arthur Freer’s not the man to lead you to anything better. You can tell what people want by the leaders they choose, do you see? You choose leaders whom I respect, and I’ll respect you, do you see? As it is, I don’t. And now I’m going.
&nb
sp; VOICES: Who says? — Oh ay! — Who says goin’?
GERALD: Yes, I’m going. About this affair here we’ll cry quits; no more said about it. About a new way of life, a better way all round — I tell you I want it and need it as much as ever you do. I don’t care about money really. But I’m never going to be bullied.
VOICE: Who doesn’t care about money?
Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence (Illustrated) Page 755
