Noisy Young Man. The lydies! God bless 'em!
(Voices drown her and the Chairman.)
Old Newsvendor (to Noisy Young Man). Oh, take that extra 'alf pint 'ome and sleep it off!
Working Woman. P'r'aps your 'omes are all right. P'r'aps you aren't livin', old and young, married and single, in one room. I come from a plyce where many fam'lies 'ave to live like that if they're to go on livin' at all. If you don't believe me, come and let me show you! (She spreads out her lean arms.) Come with me to Canning Town!—come with me to Bromley—come to Poplar and to Bow! No. You won't even think about the overworked women and the underfed children and the 'ovels they live in. And you want that we shouldn't think neither——
A Vagrant. We'll do the thinkin'. You go 'ome and nuss the byby.
Working Woman. I do nurse my byby! I've nursed seven. What 'ave you done for yours? P'r'aps your children never goes 'ungry, and maybe you're satisfied—though I must say I wouldn't a' thought it from the look o' you.
Voice. Oh, I s'y!
Working Woman. But we women are not satisfied. We don't only want better things for our own children. We want better things for all. Every child is our child. We know in our 'earts we oughtn't to rest till we've mothered 'em every one.
Voice. "Women"—"children"—wot about the men? Are they all 'appy?
(Derisive laughter and "No! no!" "Not precisely." "'Appy? Lord!")