MESSENGER. None! A great hubbub of Invention has been made, but what of Otherdom? A terrific rush to the standard of Mammon. “Arm! arm!” is the cry, “for the great Battle of Buy and Sell.” Invention echoes, “here are swords for all and any—good or bad, right or wrong, no question.” False foods, false drinks, false houses, false public service. Invent! Invent! Railways for War to travel on, the grand science of Butchery, no question! Telegraphs to swindle by, Advertisements of any fraud, no question! And still your vaunted Progress bellows, “More Swords! More Swords!” HORACE. Sir, you are a pessimist. (_Loud cries and shouts heard off L._) MESSENGER. What is that? HORACE. Accident, I suppose. Yes, man run over. Silly fool to get in the way. MESSENGER. Can’t you help? HORACE. Oh, no, there’s a crowd around him already. It’s all right. They’ll take him to the hospital. MESSENGER. Surely you might give some assistance. HORACE. No. I should only be in the way. The police will attend to it. It’s their business. Oh, confound it! They are bringing him this way. (_Enter crowd of people, men and women, carrying a wounded man. Murmurs of pity and sympathy from all._) OMNES. Poor feller! Lord help ’im! Why can’t they look where they’re a driving to? WOUNDED MAN. Put me down, put me down, Mates! I can’t stand it! FIRST MAN. Lend a coat, somebody! We can’t put him down in the snow. MESSENGER. Lend yours. HORACE. Oh, no, I can’t! This coat cost fifty pounds! MESSENGER. Take it off! (_HORACE about to obey, reluctantly._) SECOND MAN. Here’s mine, and welcome. (_Wounded man is lowered on to coat on ground._) WOUNDED MAN. Where’s Polly? POLLY. Here I am, Jim! WOUNDED MAN. Oh, Polly, what will become of you and the children? POLLY. Never you mind about us, Jim. You’re the one to worry about. Is a doctor coming? FIRST MAN. He’s coming. MESSENGER. Here is your opportunity. You can help them. HORACE. I assure you I wouldn’t be justified. This sort of thing is all properly provided for. It’s all right. FIRST MAN. Here’s the doctor. It’s Dr. Chapman. (_Enter DR. CHAPMAN L._) SECOND MAN. It was the driver’s fault. I see it all, just how it ’appened. He wasn’t looking where he was a-goin’. DR. CHAPMAN. Poor fellow! I can do nothing for him. It is a hospital case. You must find a shutter. FIRST MAN. The police called for an ambulance. HORACE. Splendid force the police. DR. CHAPMAN. I’ll ease your pain a bit so they can lift you. WOUNDED MAN. Oh, Polly, you’ll have a bad time with the kiddies till I’m about again. POLLY. Don’t you take on, Jim. We’ll pull through somehow, though I don’t know how. (_Cries._) MESSENGER. Help her. HORACE. I can’t. I have only notes. MESSENGER. Give them to her. HORACE. I’ve nothing less than a tenner. MESSENGER. Give all that you have. HORACE. All that I have? Absurd! I can’t! I won’t! MESSENGER. How much have you? (_HORACE counts his money._) HORACE. Fifty, twenty and ten.