I've no time. Next man!—What have you to show?
HEIBER
[Lays his web on the table. While PFEIFER is examining it, he goes close up to him; eagerly in a low tone.] Beg pardon, Mr. Pfeifer, but I wanted to ask you, sir, if you would perhaps be so very kind an' do me the favour an' not take my advance money off this week's pay.
PFEIFER
[Measuring and examining the texture; jeeringly.] Well! What next, I wonder? This looks very much as if half the weft had stuck to the bobbins again.
HEIBER
[Continues.] I'll be sure to make it all right next week, sir. But this last week I've had to put in two days' work on the estate. And my missus is ill in bed….
PFEIFER
[Giving the web to be weighed.] Another piece of real slop-work. [Already examining a new web.] What a selvage! Here it's broad, there it's narrow; here it's drawn in by the wefts goodness knows how tight, and there it's torn out again by the temples. And hardly seventy threads weft to the inch. What's come of the rest? Do you call this honest work? I never saw anything like it.
[HEIBER, repressing tears, stands humiliated and helpless.