(_Enter Henri, Joseph, Matthew and Martin._) Henri. No, Madame Barlow, we are no longer in the hall. We are here. Ephraim (_on his feet_). What's the meaning of this? Joe (_insolently_). Meaning, Mr. Barlow? The meaning is, you'll either listen to us here and now or you'll have your factory fired. You can take your choice. Guy. Fire then, and be damned to you. Joe. Is that your answer, Mr. Barlow? Ephraim. No. Come here and be quiet, Guy. Who am I speaking to? Matthew. You know us, Mr. Barlow. Ephraim. You're in bad company, Matt. Matthew. I told you how _'_twould be if you forced me into factory. Ephraim. Are you the spokesman? I suppose there's a ringleader. Who is he? Henri. We are all leaders. Guy (_sneering_), I've heard of armies that were all generals and no privates. Martin (_quietly_). If you mean by leader who it is that's-kept back the riot---- John (_badly frightened_). Riot? Martin. There are hundreds round your factories tonight. They're waiting there, waiting for us. I'm leader enough to hold them back until we get your answer. Take care lest I lead them in a different fashion on another night. Guy. Mutiny, eh? Martin. Oh, names don't matter, _Mr_. Guy. We could call you names, and true ones, if we liked. Ephraim. So you're their leader, Martin Kelsall? Martin. At your service, Mr. Barlow. Ephraim. I have my doubts of that. Well now, we'll just sit down and talk this over quietly. Ruth. Father, you amongst the rioters! Matthew. We're here as peaceful delegates. Guy. With threats of fire and murder on your tongue. John (_querulously_). What's it all about? Never mind who they are. What do they want? Henri. More wages. Joe. Less machinery. Martin. Close the factories. Matthew. And whatever you do, give a fellow-creature a chance of living, Mr. Barlow. Ephraim. Will one of you speak for all? What are your complaints? Martin. I'll speak, Mr. Barlow. We complain of starvation, of being driven into your factories and---- Ephraim. Stop there. We drive nobody. There's no compulsion to enter our factories. Martin. There's the compulsion of need. You won't have hand-looms and you've forced us into factories. You've got us there and we've been helpless before you. We've to work your hours and take your pay, and the pay's not fit to keep a dog alive. We're tired of factories. We want to live. (_Murmurs of agreement from the men._) Guy (_rising_). Listen to me, men. Everything must have a beginning. A great system is springing into birth. It isn't perfect yet---- Martin. Perfect! It's---- Guy (_proceeding_). You are suffering the lean years. The fat ones are coming. Martin. We've heard all that before. You put it down to the war, not to the machines that time. Guy. Even England can't recover in a moment from a war like this one. Martin. It was all the war last time we made complaint and when the war was over you promised us fat times, and all of us were going to go hell for leather for prosperity.