HOBSON (_banging table_). Ruin, Maggie, that's what it is! Ruin and bankruptcy. Am I vicar's warden at St. Philip's or am I not? Am I Hobson of Hobson's Boot Shop on Chapel Street, Salford? Am I a respectable ratepayer and the father of a family or-- MAGGIE (_who has been reading over_ WILL'S _shoulder_). It's an action for damages for trespass, I see. HOBSON. It's a stab in the back, it's an unfair, un-English, cowardly way of taking a mean advantage of a casual accident. MAGGIE. Did you trespass? HOBSON. Maggie, I say it solemnly, it is all your fault. I had an accident. I don't deny it. I'd been in the "Moonraker's" and I'd stayed too long. And why? Why did I stay too long? To try to forget that I'd a thankless child, to erase from the tablets of memory the recollection of your conduct. That was the cause of it. And the result, the blasting, withering result? I fell into that cellar. I slept in that cellar and I awoke to this catastrophe. Lawyers... law-costs... publicity... ruin. MAGGIE (_moving round table to_ C.). I'm still asking you. Was it an accident? Or did you trespass? HOBSON. It's an accident. As plain as Salford Town Hall it's an accident, but they that live by law have twisted ways of putting things that make white show as black. I'm in their grip at last. I've kept away from lawyers all my life, I've hated lawyers, and they've got their chance to make me bleed for it. I've dodged them, and they've caught me in the end. They'll squeeze me dry for it. WILLIE. My word, and that's summat like a squeeze and all. (HOBSON _stares at him_.) MAGGIE. I can see it's serious. I shouldn't wonder if you didn't lose some trade from this. HOBSON. Wonder! (_Rising and moving_ C.) It's as certain as Christmas. My good-class customers are not going to buy their boots from a man who's stood up in open court and had to acknowledge he was overcome at 12 o'clock in the morning. They'll not remember it was private grief that caused it all. They'll only think the worse of me because I couldn't control my daughter better than to let her go and be the cause of sorrow to me in my age. That's what you've done. Brought this on me, you two, between you. WILLIE. Do you think it will get into the paper, Maggie? MAGGIE. Yes, for sure. You'll see your name in the _Salford Reporter_, father. HOBSON. _Salford Reporter_! Yes, and more. When there is ruin and disaster, and outrageous fortune overwhelms a man of my importance to the world, it isn't only the _Salford Reporter_ that takes note of it. This awful cross that's come to me will be recorded in the _Manchester Guardian_ for the whole of Lancashire to read. WILLIE. Eh, by gum, think of that! To have your name appearing in the _Guardian_! Why, it's very near worth while to be ruined for the pleasure of reading about yourself in a printed paper. HOBSON (_sits sofa_). It's there for others to read besides me, my lad.