Walter (sits c.). Carrington's all back stairs, and cramped stairs they are. There's no breathing space. What right have we to monopolize the air? We've room to move about—so much room that you need never go out of the Polygon.
Mont. We pay for the privilege, don't we?
Walter. Yes, you pay for it in money and they pay for the lack of it in health.
Mont. If there's overcrowding it's a matter for the town authorities to deal with.
Walter. They want to deal with it. They want the Polygon.
Vin. They can't have it. They must know it 'ud be cutting off their nose to spite their face. The Polygon's essential to Carrington.
Walter. Why?
Vin. It is Carrington. I tell you this, young man, Carrington's last state would be worse than its first if you took us away. We—we circulate money. We give the place a tone.
Walter. It's a tone the place could do without. It could do without your money. We are not Carrington. The factories are the essential Carrington. Mr. Vining, (rising and taking a step to r. c.) let me show you what it's like—whole families living—no, not living—pigging in a single room. Rooms cut up amongst two or three families. All in Carrington, our neighbours in Christian Carrington.
Vin. Thanks. I'm not the sort of man to put my head into a noose. I prefer to keep out of infection.