Mrs. Norbury. It used to be known for a saving street when I first came to live here. Every house had a bank-book. Mrs. Wilmot. And there's more money coming into the street to-day than there was then. Mrs. Norbury. And going out. They spend more in an ordinary week than ever me and my old man spent in a holiday week one time, and if they don't spend, they gamble, and nothing to show for it all at the finish. Mrs. Wilmot. Yes, and come begging off their mother as soon as they fall sick or out of work. And that uppish with it all! Mrs. Norbury. Do you think I can get my girls to stay at home and give me a lift with the house of an evening? Not they. They've always something on that's more important than me. I'm nobody. And the money those girls spend on their clothes! Mrs. Wilmot. Time was when a man _'_ud come straight home when he'd finished work and be satisfied with doing a bit in his garden. Most he'd ever think of, barring Saturday night of course, was one night a week at his club. Nowadays it's every night the same. (_Mrs. Metherell moves impatiently._) Mrs. Norbury. I know. You did know where to lay your hand on them once, but there's no telling where they get to now. Mrs. Wilmot. It's all these picture shows and music halls. Mrs. Metherell (_roughly_). It's all your own fault, Amy. Mrs. Wilmot. Why? Mrs. Metherell. You let them put upon you. Mrs. Norbury. I suppose you don't? Mrs. Metherell. Our Jack doesn't carry on that road. Mrs. Wilmot. He'll have it out of you yet. He's quiet and deep. Mrs. Metherell (_confidently_). He's safe enough. Mrs. Wilmot. Till he breaks out. Mrs. Metherell. He's never broken yet. Mrs. Norbury. You're lucky, then. Mrs. Metherell. It isn't luck. It's the way you go about it with them. Mrs. Norbury (_enviously_). Yours gets good money, too. Mrs. Metherell. And I see it all. We've a use for a bank-book in this house. Mrs. Wilmot. I wish I saw the half of what mine get. Always crying out for more, but not to give it me. Some of them wouldn't be happy if they'd their own motor-car. Mrs. Metherell. Yes. That's the way. When I was young a man could start poor and end rich. He'd save and stick to what he got. These lads to-day _'_ull never rise. They're too busy spending what they have. My Jack knows a game worth two of that. He's improving his mind. His bedroom's full of books. Fitting himself to rise, Jack is. Mrs. Norbury. There are a few like that. They're rare and scarce. (_Knock at street door,_) (_She rises._) I'm nearest. Mrs. Metherell (_rising_). Sit you still. (_Crosses and opens door._) (_Elsie and Edmund are there._) Edmund. Mrs. Metherell? Mrs. Metherell (_gruffly_). Yes? (_Immediately on the "Yes," Elsie enters past her._) Edmund. May we come in? Mrs. Metherell. Looks as if you were in. (_Edmund enters hesitatingly._) Elsie. Have you heard about Jack's accident? (_Mrs. Wilmot and Mrs. Norbury remain seated, eyeing Elsie's clothes._)