“The doctor has come,” he remarked, “and says he’d better go t’ bed. There’s nothing the matter, but David says he’ll leave a note on the chap’s people on th’ way back. They live close by th’ station. Kerious sort of f’ller, he is. Called me ‘Moloch’ when he w’s coming round. Who was Moloch, d’you remember?” he asked Mrs. Vachell. “I can’t just get it for th’ moment.”
“Something to do with blood, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Vachell suggested.
“Ah, thaat’s it,” Joseph replied contentedly. “Script’ral allusion ’f some sort I w’s sure. He’s talking about blood all th’ time and not a scratch on him anywhere. ’t’s most kerious.”
“Some people have such a prejudice against cars, particularly if they are not in them,” said Susie. “And if he is a Communist he is quite sure to think he ought to have one. And so ought everybody, I do think, if they can. When cheap ones are made in large quantities I am sure people will be happier and more contented.”
“Except those who make them,” said Mrs. Vachell. She was standing up by the mantelpiece, fingering a matchbox on the corner. “Or shall we contrive that Mr. Fisk gets inside one as soon as possible and you and I take a turn at the workshops, Mrs. Fulton?”
“No, I think we are all much better where we are,” Susie replied smiling. “Every man to his last. But I do certainly think that conditions ought to be made better. I believe if all that sort of thing were arranged everyone would settle down much more comfortably. Beauty is such a happy thing. I find, myself, that I don’t mind how simply I live so long as I have music and books and so on and if I can get out into the country sometimes. These ugly streets are so depressing.”
“You must meet Mr. Cranston and see what you can do with him,” said Mrs. Vachell.
“I don’t think Mrs. Fulton would get on with him at all,” put in Mrs. Gainsborough in a great flurry. Her imagination flew to a possible scene of inextricable confusion and she turned quite red with embarrassment.
“No, do, Mrs. Fulton,” said Mrs. Abel anxiously. “I wish you would speak to him and see if you can’t influence him. What you say is perfectly true. My husband would be so grateful to you.”
“Well, I hope you will ask me to come too,” said Mrs. Carpenter. “I can support you with all the facts if you want them. Mr. Cranston talks the greatest nonsense. He should come down to our place and talk to the women I have to deal with and get at the practical side of what they want. He would find that if he stopped the men drinking and made them bring home their wages there would be plenty—abundance even—to live on; and if it were made a criminal offence for a man to run after a young girl——”