Mrs. G. Do you think I don't know it? Peter (_his demeanour unfeignedly modest_). Comrades, Mr. Applegarth, it's nothing. I tried my best, but if I hadn't been so lucky in my papers---- Jones (_interrupting_). You've passed. The others were lucky, lucky in being men of leisure, sons of wealthy parents with nothing to do but study. Don't talk about your luck--(_bitterly_)--the luck of a wage slave. It's like winning a foot race with your ankles chained together. O'Cal. It's the mighty brain of him that made him win. Peter. Comrades, don't give me praise. It wasn't I. Something not myself got hold of me and urged me on. Injustice! Tyranny! The consciousness of class. The knowledge that in the eyes of my well-to-do competitors I was an inferior animal. My hands are rough with toil, the toil they batten on, and so they mocked at me for daring to compete with them--a man with a trade. They know now what a working man can do with his brain. They laughed on the wrong side of their fat faces, when the list came out to-night. O'Cal. Bravo! Jones (_sceptically_). Are they all such cads? I thought there were Socialists among them. Peter. Middle-class, kid-glove Socialists, Fabians. Ned (_dryly_). You're a fine talker, lad. O'Cal. (_to Ned_). And a brave doer, Mr. Applegarth. Ned. Well, well, a good start's half the battle, and I'm not denying that a ready tongue's a useful gift. Mar. It's a dangerous one, Mr. Applegarth. Jones. Aye, when it's by itself. Not when it's backed up by a knowledge of the principles of Karl Marx and used to expose fearlessly the gross fallacies of the capitalist professors of economics. Ned (_impatiently_). Let's get to business. (_Jones is resentful._) Mrs. Garside's making supper, and we don't want to keep her waiting. Mrs. G. That's all one. Food _'_ull be nobbut a fraud. We're too excited to eat this night. Sit you down. Ned. Thank you, Mrs. Garside. [_Mrs. Garside puts Ned in chair, centre. Peter and Margaret bring the chairs right down stage, putting one right, near table, the other left, Jones sits right. O'Callagan at table left, Peter on chair he brings left of O'Callagan, and Mrs. Garside presently takes rocking-chair. Margaret stands l.c. well away from the rest, as if trying to efface herself, after going off left and returning without her hat in a moment._ (_Sitting._) Peter, I've said it before, and I say it again. You've made a good start, lad. Peter. Thank you, Mr. Applegarth. Ned. A good start. And now, what comes next? Peter (_going left, and meeting Margaret as she reenters_). Next? This next, Mr. Applegarth. (_Taking her hand._) Ned (_nodding_). So. I mind I'd heard. Well, marriage is a proper state. (_Jones shows signs of irritation._) And you're a lucky chap to have Miss Shawcross for a bride. I don't say anything against marriage. Jones (_hotly_). Well, I do. Now and always. In a free state marriage----