_Shop Girl_ (_to Sempstress_). 'Ere Miss MIVVINS, you're no hand of a scholard, and know all erbout everythink. Wot _is_ this Nottingham Goose Fair, anyhow? _Sempstress._ Well, it is not a goose fair, exactly EMMA--not in the sense of the old song, at any rate. Seems to me it's a meeting of ladies of title, who don't know what work is, to talk about women of no title who have to do it. (_Sighs._) But I suppose they mean well, poor dears. _Young Machinist_ (_pallid and cramped_). Well, Miss MIVVINS, no doubt as they do. But oh dear me, what good are they going to do the likes of us? My knees crackle, my back aches, and my head swims. Thanks, yes, I don't mind if I do. (_Drinks._) Ah! that warms and straightens one out a bit! But if, as you say, these ladies don't know what work is, one of 'em should do _my_ little bit at the warehouse for a week. _Laundress._ Ah! or mine, at the wash-tub. _Workman's Wife._ Or mine at the wash-tub _and_ all over the shop as well, as I 'olds is the 'ardest of all, seeing as how it ain't _never_ done. _Sempstress_ (_mildly_). Ah, yes; but you have _your_ husband and children for company, whereas I----Oh, the long, dreary loneliness of it! _Tailoress._ Lookee 'ere, Liz, don't you talk about the old man being _cumpny_, not till you know wot sich "cumpny" is. _You_ never got a black heye like this; and do you 'appen to know 'ow a kick from a 'obnailed 'ighlow feels in the ribs? _Sempstress_ (_gently_). Well, no, my poor soul; and perhaps I'm ungrateful to grumble. _Flower Mounter._ Yes; but what might these topping Nottingham Lydy-Workers talk about when they _do_ meet? _Sempstress._ Well, you see---- _Laundress._ 'Old 'ard a minnit, LIZ. Before you begin, let's drink up and 'ave another all round. Torkin' 's dry work, as I dessay the Nottingham spouters found it. [_They toss off, and replenish._ _Sempstress_ (_continuing_). Well, I see, one of their papers is on "The Ethics of Work." _Step Girl._ Lor! wot's that, Miss MIVVINS? _Sempstress_ (_hesitating_). Well--you see--I suppose it means the _morals_ of work, or something o' that. _Laundress._ _Morals_ of work! Might as well talk o' the morals of misery while you 're erbout it. The less I 'ave to do, the better I like it--that's _my_ moral. _Shop Girl._ Not much morals about work nowadays, SARAH, if _I_'m any judge. Piling up work and cutting down prices, with the halternative of the streets if yer strikes--that's about the "morals" of _our_ firm. And if you torked to our Boss about these 'ere Nottingham notions, _'e_'d "moral" you! _Semptress._ Another lady, I see, with _such_ a pretty, poetic-like sort of name, talks about "The Responsibility of Refinement." _Workman's Wife._ Ah, well, we ain't got none, so that can't consarn us, can it?