Peter. We'll all help. I'll lay the table.
Mrs. G. You don't stir a finger, my lad. Sit you down.
[Peter sits with amused resignation in rocking-chair.
Peter. Oh! Why?
Mrs. G. B.A.s don't lay tables. Now, Margaret. (Mrs. Garside takes white cloth from drawer in table and she and Margaret spread it. There is a knock at the door. Peter gets up. Mrs. Garside pushes him back into his chair). I've told you to sit still. (She crosses to door centre and opens it.)
O'Cal. (visible in doorway). May we come in, Mrs. Garside?
Mrs. G. (genially). Yes. Come in, the lot of you.
[The three who enter are working men in their evening clothes. Denis O'Callagan is 35, clean shaven, an enthusiastic impractical Irishman, small and dark. Karl Marx Jones is 30, wears a formally trimmed beard, is precise in utterance, doctrinaire in outlook, and practical in procedure. Ned Applegarth is a man of 50, his age carrying sober authority, very earnest in manner, grizzled moustache, grey hair, black cut-away coat and turn-down collar, a responsible leader deferred to willingly by O'Callagan, ungraciously by Jones. Ned, entering last, closes the door. Each, as he speaks, shakes Peter's hand.
O'Cal. (visible in doorway). Aye. Let us come in, for it's a great night surely, and we fair bursting with the glory of the thing that's done this day.
Jones. Comrade Garside, I offer my congratulations.