JOB ARTHUR. It's no use fooling. You've fooled for thirty years, and we're no further. What's got to be done will have to be begun. It's for every man to sweep in front of his own doorstep. You can't call your neighbours dirty till you've washed your own face. Every parish has got its own vermin, and it's the business of every parish to get rid of its own. VOICES. That's it--that's it--that's the ticket--that's the style! WILLIE. And are you going to comb 'em out, or do you propose to use Keating's? VOICES. Shut it! Shut it up! Stop thy face! Hold thy gab!--Go on, Job Arthur. JOB ARTHUR. How it's got to be done is for us all to decide. I'm not one for violence, except it's a force-put. But it's like this. We've been travelling for years to where we stand now--and here the road stops. There's a precipice below and a rock-face above. And in front of us stand the masters. Now there's three things we can do. We can either throw ourselves over the precipice; or we can lie down and let the masters walk over us; or we can GET ON. WILLIE. Yes. That's all right. But how are you going to get on? JOB ARTHUR. Well--we've either got to throw the obstacle down the cliff--or walk over it. VOICES. Ay--ay--ay--yes--that's a fact. WILLIE. I quite follow you, Job Arthur. You've either got to do for the masters--or else just remove them, and put them somewhere else. VOICES. Get rid on 'em--drop 'em down the shaft--sink 'em--ha' done wi' 'em--drop 'em down the shaft--bust the beggars--what do you do wi' vermin? WILLIE. Supposing you begin. Supposing you take Gerald Barlow, and hang him up from his lamp-post, with a piece of coal in his mouth for a sacrament--- VOICES. Ay--serve him right--serve the beggar right! Shove it down's throttle--ay! WILLIE. Supposing you do it--supposing you've done it--and supposing you aren't caught and punished--even supposing that--what are you going to do next?--THAT'S the point. JOB ARTHUR. We know what we're going to do. Once we can get our hands free, we know what we're going to do.