Guy. Just wait a bit. Think what a great thing this system is. We're going to make calico for the whole world. We've all a share in it. Henri. You get your share and ours as well. Guy. Do try to follow me. The cotton comes to us from the sun-kissed fields of far America, grown there by planters descended from men of our own blood and---- Martin. The cotton's grown by slaves. Guy. That's not my business. Matthew. No. Your business is to make slaves of us here. Guy. I'll tell you something, Mr. Butterworth. It's this, and it's from a book you know. "Where there is no vision, the people perish." Matthew. I don't know about the vision, but I'm sure about the perishing. And I know where we'll go when we've finished perishing. When one of us gets up to the Golden Gate, Peter _'_ull ask him what he was and he'll say a weaver, and Peter 'ull ask him no more questions. He'll just open the gate quick and say, "Poor devil, get into heaven, you've had your bellyful of hell on earth." Guy. You'll have prosperity on earth. Martin. Aye. So you've said before. Guy. You complain of the machines. You say they've turned men away. Joe. Aye. Guy. Those men will soon find work. Martin. Where? Guy. I'm going to build another factory. Martin. By God, you're not. Matthew. Another! Isn't one hell on earth enough for you? Guy. Patience, patience! I'm trying to explain. Martin. We've no time for patience. We're famishing. And you'll build no other factory. You'll change your tune or you'll lose the one you've got. Building new factories is no use to us. We're not builders. We're weavers. Ephraim. Hold your tongue, Guy. I'll tackle this. (_Guy sits sulkily._) Matthew. We'll hear the old master. Ephraim. Now, my lads, the factory's there, and it's going to stop there. (_Guy takes paper and pencil from his pocket and begins to draw caricatures of the men._) Henri. Don't be too sure of it. Ephraim. Burn it and we build another. And while it's building you'll have time to think and clear heads to think with, for you'll draw no wages in the meantime. I'm still waiting to know why you're here. Matthew. If you'd not reduced wages, maybe we'd not be here. Ephraim. That's it, is it? Joe. Yes, that's it. Ephraim. Will it make you happy if I put the wages up again? Martin. It won't make us happy. There's been no happy weavers since machines came in. John. Is that what you want? Wages back at the old level? Martin. No. We want more. The old level isn't good enough. Eight shillings a week won't keep a man, let alone a man's family. Ephraim. We give your families work. You men aren't the only wage-earners. Even your children can come to us and be paid. We not only keep them away from mischief at home, but we pay them for it. (_Rising._) You can take that answer back. We want willing workers and if you'll go away and be satisfied with the old wages, we'll try to pay them, though it's little less than ruin for the manufacturers.