_in immense white letters. It will be well to get, to the full, the effect of the height above the crowd of the straggling group of speakers on the pedestal platform. These are, as the Curtain rises, a working-class woman who is waving her arms and talking very earnestly, her voice for the moment blurred in the uproar. She is dressed in brown serge and looks pinched and sallow. At her side is the_ CHAIRMAN _urging that she be given a fair hearing._ ALLEN TRENT _is a tall, slim, brown-haired man of twenty-eight, with a slight stoop, an agreeable aspect, well-bred voice, and the gleaming brown eye of the visionary. Behind these two, looking on or talking among themselves, are several other carelessly dressed women; one, better turned out than the rest, is quite young, very slight and gracefully built, with round, very pink cheeks, full, scarlet lips, naturally waving brown hair, and an air of childish gravity. She looks at the unruly mob with imperturbable calm. The_ CHAIRMAN'S _voice is drowned._ WORKING WOMAN (_with lean, brown finger out and voice raised shriller now above the tumult_). I've got boys o' me own and we laugh at all sorts o' things, but I should be ashymed and so would they if ever they was to be'yve as you're doin' to-d'y. (_In laughter the noise dies._) People 'ave been sayin' this is a middle-class woman's movement. It's a libel. I'm a workin' woman myself, the wife of a working man. (_Voice_: "Pore devil!") I'm a Poor Law Guardian and a---- NOISY YOUNG MAN. Think of that, now--gracious me! (_Laughter and interruption._) OLD NEWSVENDOR (_to the noisy young man near him_). Oh, shut up, cawn't yer? NOISY YOUNG MAN. Not fur _you_! VOICE. Go'ome and darn yer old man's stockens! VOICE. Just clean yer _own_ doorstep! WORKING WOMAN. It's a pore sort of 'ousekeeper that leaves 'er doorstep till Sunday afternoon. Maybe that's when you would do _your_ doorstep. I do mine in the mornin' before you men are awake. OLD NEWSVENDOR. It's true, wot she says!--every word. WORKING WOMAN. You say we women 'ave got no business servin' on boards and thinkin' about politics. Wot's _politics_? (_A derisive roar._) It's just 'ousekeepin' on a big scyle. 'Oo among you workin' men 'as the most comfortable 'omes? Those of you that gives yer wives yer wyges. (_Loud laughter and jeers._) { That's it! VOICES. { Wantin' our money. { Lord 'Igh 'Ousekeeper of England.