JOHN. Don't be hard on me, Jabez. I can't bear it.
JABEZ. I've to look after number one, John.
JOHN (appealingly). Charlie!
CHARLIE. It's no good, father. I can't betray my principles.
JABEZ. And I can't sign that cheque, John. Perhaps Charlie's prepared to be your banker.
JOHN. It means—— (Sitting l. of desk.)
JABEZ. Oh, I know what it means. (Rises, goes c., drains glass and turns on Charlie.) Listen to me, Charlie. I'll have no meddling with the men. That's all over and done with. Understand once for all that it's hands off the men. I'll have no discontent amongst my men. I don't want men who'll think. I want men who'll work. (Down l. to cupboard and putting glass on top of it.)
CHARLIE. To think is to be discontented. Discontent is divine.
JABEZ. Don't talk rubbish, sir. We are told to be content with the station into which it has pleased Providence to place us.
CHARLIE (passionately). Virtue on ten thousand a year! This is your rich man's God, who is at home to you in his church one day a week from 10.30 to 12 and 6.30 to 8. You don't go because you hope to get a little dirt washed off your shop-soiled soul. You go because it isn't respectable to stop away. For six days you serve Mammon, and on the seventh you follow your gregarious instincts and crowd into a church in your sleek broadcloth, and only the effort of keeping a properly sanctimonious expression on your well-fed face prevents you from falling asleep in your padded pew. That's your middle-class religion and your middle-class Providence. Don't talk to me of Providence till you can show me a Providence which provides.