JOB ARTHUR. Well, sir, you said it would be all right, and I went on that—-
GERALD. You went on that! Where did you go to?
JOB ARTHUR. The men'll be out on Monday.
GERALD. So shall I.
JOB ARTHUR. Oh, yes, but—where's it going to end?
GERALD. Do you want me to prophesy? When did I set up for a public prophet?
JOB ARTHUR. I don't know, sir. But perhaps you're doing more than you know. There's a funny feeling just now among the men.
GERALD. So I've heard before. Why should I concern myself with their feelings? Am I to cry when every collier bumps his funny-bone—or to laugh?
JOB ARTHUR. It's no laughing matter, you see.
GERALD. An I'm sure it's no crying matter—unless you want to cry, do you see?