EPHRAIM. But not as weaver, Matt.
MATTHEW. What then?
EPHRAIM. As overlooker, and not a man in Lancashire that's better fitted for it.
MATTHEW (soberly weighing it). Aye. That's no more than truth.
EPHRAIM. I'm not flattering. I'm a business man, and I'm choosing the best man for the job.
MATTHEW. And I'm refusing it, for I'm a business man and I've got a better job. I've an old loom in yonder and as long as she hangs together I'll go on weaving cloth as cloth should be woven, by the skilful hand of a man to designs of his own contriving. To hell with uniformity. There's beauty in a loom and nowt but beastly ugliness in a row of looms.
GUY (coldly). Where do you get your yarn from, Butter-worth?
MATTHEW. Why, from you.
GUY. And you've been selling your cloth to us?
MATTHEW. Yes.