MASSEY. Me! Why should I do such a thing? Father was a plumber, and if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. Suppose I had thrown it up and gone to Canada for a lark? A _nice_ thing for my family. [_To MAGGIE._] You wouldn't have had the education you've had, my girl. We've got to live somehow, and if you get a good job stick to it, say I--none of your highty flighty notions. Live 'em down! FOSTER. [_gently._] We all have moments of discontent, I fancy, but we get over them. MAGGIE. [_turns to FOSTER._] Did you ever have any? FOSTER. A long time ago, but I'm quite safe now, dear. _MAGGIE shrugs her shoulders and turns half away impatiently._ CHARLEY. I never said you couldn't live them down. I never said, did I, that I was going away? I only said I should like to. Did I ever say more, Lil? LILY. [_meekly._] No, dear. MRS. M. But you shouldn't want to. It's ridiculous. CHARLEY. It wasn't till Tennant started about his going-- MRS. M. I knew it was that man Tennant-- CHARLEY. . . . that I thought of it. But if he threw up his job, I thought, why shouldn't I? MASSEY. Because he's a fool, you needn't be another. MAGGIE. He's not a fool, and I wish Charley could go, too. LILY. Maggie, how can you? MAGGIE. [_crossing to fireplace._] Why should a young man be bound down to one trade all his life? I wish I were a man--I'd-- MRS. M. Well, you're not, so it doesn't matter. CHARLEY. Of course it must make a difference my being married. MASSEY. Remember your wife's here and don't talk as if you were sorry about it. CHARLEY. [_turning on them fiercely._] For heaven's sake, can't you listen fair? My wife needn't go to her father for protection from me? I'm not a scoundrel just because I've got an idea, am I? _A pause--nobody answers._ But I'll tell you what, marriage shouldn't tie a man up as if he was a slave. I don't want to desert Lily--she's my wife and I'm proud of it--but because I married, am I never to strike out in anything? People like us are just cowards. We seize on the first soft job--and there we stick, like whipped dogs. We're afraid to ask for anything, afraid to ask for a rise even--we wait till it comes. And when the boss says he won't give you one--do we up and say, "Then I'll go somewhere where I can get more." Not a bit of it! What's the good of sticking on here all our lives? Why shouldn't somebody risk something sometimes? We're all so jolly frightened--we've got no spunk--that's where the others get the hold over us--we slog on day after day and when they cut our wages down we take it as meek as Moses. We're not men, we're machines. Next week I've got my choice--either to take less money to keep my job or to chuck it and try something else. You say--everybody says--keep the job. I expect I shall--I'm a coward like all of you--but what I want to know is, why can't a man have a fit of restlessness and all that, without being thought a villain?