Mrs. Quinn—Poor darlin', I got a letter from her this mornin'. She's comin' home.
Mrs. Martin—Does Mr. Quinn know?
Mrs. Quinn—I'll have it out with him to-night.
Mrs. Martin—He's a pretty stubborn man.
Mrs. Quinn—I'll bring him around, never fear.
Mrs. Martin—I think you're a wonderful woman, the way you manage him, Mrs. Quinn.
Mrs. Quinn—Sure it's just me knowledge of that, keeps me goin'. When I lose conceit of meself, I'll be fit for no place but—Heaven.
Mrs. Martin—(Listens, with finger uplifted.) Sh! That's Bill slamming the back gate. I'll go put the kettle on. A cup of hot tea soon takes all the ugly kinks out of him.
Mrs. Quinn—It's an upliftin' beverage, is tea. It does miracles for my old man, when he has his back up.
Mrs. Martin—(Going to door L. then hesitating.) I'm not a specially religious woman, Mrs. Quinn, and I've never heard you say much about it, but I think now that everything else has failed and the strike seems no nearer an end, we might as well take it to God in prayer. As Bill says, we've tried every other way.