Scene:—Liberal Central Committee Rooms, East India Dock Road, Poplar. A large, high room on the first floor of an old-fashioned house. Two high windows right. A door at back is the main entrance. A door left leads to other rooms. The walls are papered with election literature. Conspicuous among the posters displayed is “A Man for Men.” “No Petticoat Government.” “Will you be Henpecked?” A large, round table centre is littered with papers and pamphlets. A large desk stands between the windows. A settee is against the left wall.
(When the curtain rises, Rose Merton (otherwise “Ginger”) is discovered seated, her left arm resting on the table. She is a young lady typical of the Cockney slavey type, dressed according to the ideas of her class as regards the perfect lady. Her hat is characteristic. Her gloves, her reticule, her umbrella—the latter something rather “saucy”—are displayed around her. She is feeling comfortable and airing her views. Mrs. Chinn is laying the cloth over a portion of the table, with some tea-things. Mrs. Chinn is a thin, narrow-chested lady with thin hands and bony wrists. No one since her husband died has ever seen her without her bonnet. Its appearance suggests the possibility that she sleeps in it. It is black, like her dress. The whole figure is decent, but dingy.)
Ginger. Wot I say about the question is—
Mrs. Chinn. Do you mind moving your arm?
Ginger. Beg pardon. (She shifts.) Wot I say is, why not give us the vote and end all the talking?
Mrs. Chinn. You think it would have that effect?
Ginger. Well! we don’t want to go on being a nuisance—longer than we can possibly ’elp!
Mrs. Chinn. Daresay you’re right. It’s about the time most people stop.
Ginger. You’ve never thought much about the question yourself, ’ave you, Mrs. Chinn?
Mrs. Chinn. I ain’t fretted much about it.