JOE (soberly). I'm against violence myself till all else fails. That what we want of you, Matt. Help us to escape violence.
MATT. What help?
JOE. Will you go to London?
MATT. London?
JOE. Yes. (Very earnestly.) They don't know there. They cannot know or else they wouldn't let things go on and let poor weavers starve. Eight shillings have I taken from the factory this week. Eight shillings and the loaf at thirteenpence! We want to tell the Government we're starving while the masters stink of brass. Wages must go higher or taxes lower. They must do something.
MATTHEW. Why should I go? I'm not a factory hand.
HENRI. That's why they'll listen to a word from you. We'll go too, some of us, but there's little use in that because we're known to be reformers. There are Government spies in every Democratic Club. You can hardly trust your nearest friend. The spies are everywhere.
MATTHEW. How do you make out they don't know about us, then?
JOE. They can't. Even Parliament men aren't fiends from Hell.
MATTHEW. It's no good going to London. Think of the March of the Blanketeers.