Workman's Wife. Ah, well, we ain't got none, so that can't consarn us, can it?
Shop Girl (tartly). I say, you speak for yerself, Mother Matthews. Of course, that means refinement in dress, and—well we don't all wear a pancake 'at with a 'aporth o' green feathers dobbed on to it! (Sniffs, and adjusts her own "high-up" hat with ambitious "hortridge" plumes.)
Workman's Wife (sharply). Now look you 'ere, Miss Stuckup, if I 'adn't more "refinement" in my little finger than wot you 'ave in your 'ole five foot nothink, my old man 'ud swop me off for a ragman's black doll, 'e would, so there!
Voice from the Bar. Now then lydies, a leetle less noise there if you please!
Sempstress. I see here's another talks of "Home Life," and another of the "Morals of Money Spending."
Workman's Wife. Haw! haw! haw! Morals o' money spending, indeed! If these 'ere torky lydies 'ad got as little money to spend as we 'ave, and as many mouths to fill with it, 'tisn't the morals on it as 'ud trouble 'em. When the wealthy 'uns begin to patter of morals to us poor trash, they mostly mean meanness, I reckon.
Young Machinist. Right you are, Mrs. Matthews!
Sempstress (sadly). And as to "Home Life,"—ah! how many of them know that to some of us it only means a painful "Home Death?"
Laundress. Oh, come, I sy, Miss Mivvens, you'll give us all the 'orrors if you tork like that! While there's life—and liquor—there's 'ope, I sez. So let's 'ave another kind love all round, and then we must see about——
Sempstress. "Home Life" and the "Ethics of Work" again, as the "Women Workers" say at Nottingham.