JOE. I stood for an hour in Leicester Square when the theatres emptied, thinking I might earn a copper, calling a cab, or something. There they were, all streaming out, happy and clean and warm--broughams and motor-cars--supper at the Savoy and the Carlton--and a hundred or two of us others in the gutter, hungry--looking at them. They went off to their supper--it was pouring, and I got soaked--and there I stood, dodging the policemen, dodging the horses' heads and the motors--and it was always--get away, you loafer, get away--get away--get away-- MARY. We've done nothing to deserve it, Joe-- JOE. [_With sudden fury._] Deserve it! What have I ever done wrong! Wasn't _my_ fault the firm went bankrupt and I couldn't get another job. I've a first-rate character--I'm respectable--what's the use? I want to work--they won't let me! MARY. That illness of mine ate up all our savings. O Joe, I wish I had died! JOE. And left me alone? That's not kind of you, Mary. How about Mrs. Willis? Is she worrying about the rent? MARY. Well, she'd like to have it, of course--they're so dreadfully poor themselves--but she says she won't turn us out. And I'm going to-morrow to her daughter's upstairs--she makes matchboxes, you know--and I don't see why I shouldn't try--I could earn nearly a shilling a day. JOE. A shilling a day! Princely! [_His pipe goes out. He takes a last puff at it, squints into it to make sure all the tobacco is gone, then lays it down with a sigh._] I reckon _I'll_ try making 'em too. I went to the Vestry again, this morning, to see whether they'd take me as sweeper--but they've thirty names down, ahead of me. I've tried chopping wood, but I can't--I begin to cough the third stroke--there's something wrong with me inside, somewhere. I've tried every Institution on God's earth--and there are others before me, and there is no vacancy, and I mustn't beg, and I mustn't worry the gentlemen. A shilling a day--can one earn as much as that! Why, Mary, that will be fourteen shillings a week--an income! We'll do it! MARY. It's not quite a shilling, Joe--you have to find your own paste and odds and ends. And of course it takes a few weeks to learn, before you begin to make any money. JOE. [_Crestfallen._] Does it though? And what are we going to do, those few weeks? I thought there was a catch in it, somewhere. [_He gets up and stretches himself._] Well, here's a free-born Englishman, able to conduct correspondence in three languages, bookkeeping by double entry, twelve years' experience--and all he's allowed to do is to starve. [_He stretches himself again._] But in spite of all temptations To belong to other nations-- [_With sudden passion._] God! I wish I were a Zulu! MARY. [_Edging to him._] Joe-- JOE. [_Turning._] Well? MARY. Joe, Joe, we've tried very hard, haven't we? JOE. Tried! Is there a job in this world we'd refuse? Is there anything we'd turn up our nose at? Is there any chance we've neglected?