Jawbones. (He is still squatting on his heels, folding up the paper. He looks up.) Ain’t yer ever thought of that, instead of worrying about the vote?
Ginger. (She moves away.) You don’t understand us wimmin.
Jawbones. (He has risen. He pauses in his folding of the paper.) Don’t say that.
Ginger. Why should we coax yer—for our rights?
Jawbones. Because it’s the easiest way of getting ’em.
Ginger. (She has become oratorical.) Our appeal is not to man (with upraised hand) but to Justice!
Jawbones. Oh! And what does the lidy say?
Ginger. (Descending.) ’Ow do yer mean?
Jawbones. To your appeal. Is she goin’ to give ’em to yer? You tike my tip: if yer in a ’urry, you get a bit on account—from Man. ’Ere. (He dives into his pocket, produces, wrapped up in tissue paper, a ring, which he exhibits to her.) That’s a bit more in your line.
Ginger. (Her eyes sparkle. She takes the ring in her hand. Then problems come to her.) Why do yer want me, William?