| THE FIRST SERIES: | The Silver Box | Joy | Strife |
| THE SECOND SERIES: | The Eldest Son | Little Dream | Justice |
| THE THIRD SERIES: | The Fugitive | The Pigeon | The Mob |
| THE FOURTH SERIES: | A Bit O'Love | The Foundations | The Skin Game |
| THE FIFTH SERIES: | A Family Man | Loyalties | Windows |
| THE SIXTH SERIES: | The First and Last | The Little Man | Four Short Plays |
|
STRIFE ACT I ACT II ACT III |
The action takes place on February 7th between the hours of noon and six in the afternoon, close to the Trenartha Tin Plate Works, on the borders of England and Wales, where a strike has been in progress throughout the winter.
It is noon. In the Underwoods' dining-room a bright fire is burning. On one side of the fireplace are double-doors leading to the drawing-room, on the other side a door leading to the hall. In the centre of the room a long dining-table without a cloth is set out as a Board table. At the head of it, in the Chairman's seat, sits JOHN ANTHONY, an old man, big, clean-shaven, and high-coloured, with thick white hair, and thick dark eyebrows. His movements are rather slow and feeble, but his eyes are very much alive. There is a glass of water by his side. On his right sits his son EDGAR, an earnest-looking man of thirty, reading a newspaper. Next him WANKLIN, a man with jutting eyebrows, and silver-streaked light hair, is bending over transfer papers. TENCH, the Secretary, a short and rather humble, nervous man, with side whiskers, stands helping him. On WANKLIN'S right sits UNDERWOOD, the Manager, a quiet man, with along, stiff jaw, and steady eyes. Back to the fire is SCANTLEBURY, a very large, pale, sleepy man, with grey hair, rather bald. Between him and the Chairman are two empty chairs.
WILDER. [Who is lean, cadaverous, and complaining, with drooping grey moustaches, stands before the fire.] I say, this fire's the devil! Can I have a screen, Tench?
SCANTLEBURY. A screen, ah!
TENCH. Certainly, Mr. Wilder. [He looks at UNDERWOOD.] That is— perhaps the Manager—perhaps Mr. Underwood——
SCANTLEBURY. These fireplaces of yours, Underwood——
UNDERWOOD. [Roused from studying some papers.] A screen? Rather! I'm sorry. [He goes to the door with a little smile.] We're not accustomed to complaints of too much fire down here just now.
[He speaks as though he holds a pipe between his teeth, slowly, ironically.]
WILDER. [In an injured voice.] You mean the men. H'm!
[UNDERWOOD goes out.]
SCANTLEBURY. Poor devils!
WILDER. It's their own fault, Scantlebury.
EDGAR. [Holding out his paper.] There's great distress among them, according to the Trenartha News.
WILDER. Oh, that rag! Give it to Wanklin. Suit his Radical views. They call us monsters, I suppose. The editor of that rubbish ought to be shot.
EDGAR. [Reading.] "If the Board of worthy gentlemen who control the Trenartha Tin Plate Works from their arm-chairs in London would condescend to come and see for themselves the conditions prevailing amongst their work-people during this strike——"
WILDER. Well, we have come.
EDGAR. [Continuing.] "We cannot believe that even their leg-of-mutton hearts would remain untouched."
[WANKLIN takes the paper from him.]
WILDER. Ruffian! I remember that fellow when he had n't a penny to his name; little snivel of a chap that's made his way by black-guarding everybody who takes a different view to himself.
[ANTHONY says something that is not heard.]
WILDER. What does your father say?
EDGAR. He says "The kettle and the pot."
WILDER. H'm!
[He sits down next to SCANTLEBURY.]
SCANTLEBURY. [Blowing out his cheeks.] I shall boil if I don't get that screen.
[UNDERWOOD and ENID enter with a screen, which they place before the fire. ENID is tall; she has a small, decided face, and is twenty-eight years old.]
ENID. Put it closer, Frank. Will that do, Mr. Wilder? It's the highest we've got.
WILDER. Thanks, capitally.
SCANTLEBURY. [Turning, with a sigh of pleasure.] Ah! Merci, Madame!
ENID. Is there anything else you want, Father? [ANTHONY shakes his head.] Edgar—anything?
EDGAR. You might give me a "J" nib, old girl.
ENID. There are some down there by Mr. Scantlebury.
SCANTLEBURY. [Handing a little box of nibs.] Ah! your brother uses "J's." What does the manager use? [With expansive politeness.] What does your husband use, Mrs. Underwood?
UNDERWOOD. A quill!
SCANTLEBURY. The homely product of the goose. [He holds out quills.]
UNDERWOOD. [Drily.] Thanks, if you can spare me one. [He takes a quill.] What about lunch, Enid?
ENID. [Stopping at the double-doors and looking back.] We're going to have lunch here, in the drawing-room, so you need n't hurry with your meeting.
[WANKLIN and WILDER bow, and she goes out.]
SCANTLEBURY. [Rousing himself, suddenly.] Ah! Lunch! That hotel— Dreadful! Did you try the whitebait last night? Fried fat!
WILDER. Past twelve! Are n't you going to read the minutes, Tench?
TENCH. [Looking for the CHAIRMAN'S assent, reads in a rapid and monotonous voice.] "At a Board Meeting held the 31st of January at the Company's Offices, 512, Cannon Street, E.C. Present—Mr. Anthony in the chair, Messrs. F. H. Wilder, William Scantlebury, Oliver Wanklin, and Edgar Anthony. Read letters from the Manager dated January 20th, 23d, 25th, 28th, relative to the strike at the Company's Works. Read letters to the Manager of January 21st, 24th, 26th, 29th. Read letter from Mr. Simon Harness, of the Central Union, asking for an interview with the Board. Read letter from the Men's Committee, signed David Roberts, James Green, John Bulgin, Henry Thomas, George Rous, desiring conference with the Board; and it was resolved that a special Board Meeting be called for February 7th at the house of the Manager, for the purpose of discussing the situation with Mr. Simon Harness and the Men's Committee on the spot. Passed twelve transfers, signed and sealed nine certificates and one balance certificate."
[He pushes the book over to the CHAIRMAN.]
ANTHONY. [With a heavy sigh.] If it's your pleasure, sign the same.
[He signs, moving the pen with difficulty. ]
WANKLIN. What's the Union's game, Tench? They have n't made up their split with the men. What does Harness want this interview for?
TENCH. Hoping we shall come to a compromise, I think, sir; he's having a meeting with the men this afternoon.
WILDER. Harness! Ah! He's one of those cold-blooded, cool-headed chaps. I distrust them. I don't know that we didn't make a mistake to come down. What time'll the men be here?
UNDERWOOD. Any time now.
WILDER. Well, if we're not ready, they'll have to wait—won't do them any harm to cool their heels a bit.
SCANTLEBURY. [Slowly.] Poor devils! It's snowing. What weather!
UNDERWOOD. [With meaning slowness.] This house'll be the warmest place they've been in this winter.
WILDER. Well, I hope we're going to settle this business in time for me to catch the 6.30. I've got to take my wife to Spain to-morrow. [Chattily.] My old father had a strike at his works in '69; just such a February as this. They wanted to shoot him.
WANKLIN. What! In the close season?
WILDER. By George, there was no close season for employers then! He used to go down to his office with a pistol in his pocket.
SCANTLEBURY. [Faintly alarmed.] Not seriously?
WILDER. [With finality.] Ended in his shootin' one of 'em in the legs.
SCANTLEBURY. [Unavoidably feeling his thigh.] No? Which?
ANTHONY. [Lifting the agenda paper.] To consider the policy of the Board in relation to the strike. [There is a silence.]
WILDER. It's this infernal three-cornered duel—the Union, the men, and ourselves.
WANKLIN. We need n't consider the Union.
WILDER. It's my experience that you've always got to, consider the Union, confound them! If the Union were going to withdraw their support from the men, as they've done, why did they ever allow them to strike at all?
EDGAR. We've had that over a dozen times.
WILDER. Well, I've never understood it! It's beyond me. They talk of the engineers' and furnace-men's demands being excessive—so they are—but that's not enough to make the Union withdraw their support. What's behind it?
UNDERWOOD. Fear of strikes at Harper's and Tinewell's.
WILDER. [With triumph.] Afraid of other strikes—now, that's a reason! Why could n't we have been told that before?
UNDERWOOD. You were.
TENCH. You were absent from the Board that day, sir.
SCANTLEBURY. The men must have seen they had no chance when the Union gave them up. It's madness.
UNDERWOOD. It's Roberts!
WILDER. Just our luck, the men finding a fanatical firebrand like Roberts for leader. [A pause.]
WANKLIN. [Looking at ANTHONY.] Well?
WILDER. [Breaking in fussily.] It's a regular mess. I don't like the position we're in; I don't like it; I've said so for a long time. [Looking at WANKLIN.] When Wanklin and I came down here before Christmas it looked as if the men must collapse. You thought so too, Underwood.
UNDERWOOD. Yes.
WILDER. Well, they haven't! Here we are, going from bad to worse losing our customers—shares going down!
SCANTLEBURY. [Shaking his head.] M'm! M'm!
WANKLIN. What loss have we made by this strike, Tench?
TENCH. Over fifty thousand, sir!
SCANTLEBURY, [Pained.] You don't say!
WILDER. We shall never got it back.
TENCH. No, sir.
WILDER. Who'd have supposed the men were going to stick out like this—nobody suggested that. [Looking angrily at TENCH.]
SCANTLEBURY. [Shaking his head.] I've never liked a fight—never shall.
ANTHONY. No surrender! [All look at him.]
WILDER. Who wants to surrender? [ANTHONY looks at him.] I—I want to act reasonably. When the men sent Roberts up to the Board in December—then was the time. We ought to have humoured him; instead of that the Chairman—[Dropping his eyes before ANTHONY'S]—er—we snapped his head off. We could have got them in then by a little tact.
ANTHONY. No compromise!
WILDER. There we are! This strike's been going on now since October, and as far as I can see it may last another six months. Pretty mess we shall be in by then. The only comfort is, the men'll be in a worse!
EDGAR. [To UNDERWOOD.] What sort of state are they really in, Frank?
UNDERWOOD. [Without expression.] Damnable!
WILDER. Well, who on earth would have thought they'd have held on like this without support!
UNDERWOOD. Those who know them.
WILDER. I defy any one to know them! And what about tin? Price going up daily. When we do get started we shall have to work off our contracts at the top of the market.
WANKLIN. What do you say to that, Chairman?
ANTHONY. Can't be helped!
WILDER. Shan't pay a dividend till goodness knows when!
SCANTLEBURY. [With emphasis.] We ought to think of the shareholders. [Turning heavily.] Chairman, I say we ought to think of the shareholders. [ANTHONY mutters.]
SCANTLEBURY. What's that?
TENCH. The Chairman says he is thinking of you, sir.
SCANTLEBURY. [Sinking back into torpor.] Cynic!