In front of the fire-place is a horsehair arm-chair. Chairs to match are at the table. There are coloured prints of Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort on the walls on each side of the door at the back, and a plain one of Lord Beaconsfield over the fire-place. Antimacassars abound, and the decoration is quaintly ugly. It is an overcrowded, "cosy" room_. HOBSON _is quite contented with it, and doesn't realize that it is at present very dirty. There is probably a kitchen elsewhere, but_ TUBBY WADLOW _is cooking bacon at the fire. He is simultaneously laying breakfast for one on the table. At both proceedings he is a puzzled and incompetent amateur. Presently the left door opens, and_ JIM HEELER _appears_. JIM (_crossing_). I'll go straight up to him, Tubby. TUBBY (_checking him_). He's getting up, Mr. Heeler. JIM. Getting up! Why, you said-- TUBBY. I told you what he told me to tell you. Run for Doctor MacFarlane, he said. And I ran for Doctor MacFarlane. Now go to Mr. Heeler, he said, and tell him I'm very ill, and I came and told you. Then he said he would get up, and I was to have his breakfast ready for him, and he'd see you down here. (_Goes to fire_, R.) JIM (_moving towards door up_ R.). Nonsense, Tubby. Of course, I'll go up to him. TUBBY. You know what he is, sir. I'll get blamed if you go, and he's short-tempered this morning. JIM. I don't want to get you into trouble, Tubby. (_He sits_ R. _of table_.) TUBBY. Thank you, Mr. Heeler. (_Puts bacon on plate and plate down on the hearth_.) JIM. I quite thought it was something serious. TUBBY. If you ask me, it is. (_Coming back to table_.) JIM. Which way? TUBBY (_cutting bread_). Every way you look at it. Mr. Hobson's not his own old self, and the shop's not its own old self, and look at me. Now I ask you, Mr. Heeler, man to man, is this work for a foreman shoe hand? Cooking and laying tables and-- JIM. By all accounts there's not much else for you to do. TUBBY. There's better things than being a housemaid, if it's only making clogs. (_Crosses to fire to toast_.) JIM. They tell me clogs are a cut line. TUBBY. Well, what are you to do? There's nothing else wanted. (_Turns_.) Hobson's in a bad way, and I'm telling no secret when I say it. It's a fact that's known. JIM. It's a thousand pities with an old-established trade like this. TUBBY. And who's to blame? JIM. I don't think you ought to discuss that with me, Tubby. TUBBY. Don't you? I'm an old servant of the master's, and I'm sticking to him now when everybody's calling me a doting fool because I don't look after Tubby Wadlow first, and if that don't give me the right to say what I please, I don't know. It's temper's ruining this shop, Mr. Heeler. Temper and obstinacy. JIM. They say in Chapel Street it's Willie Mossop.