t! Shut it up! Stop thy face! Hold thy gab!--Go on, Job
Arthur.

JOB ARTHUR. How it's got to be done is for us all to decide. I'm not one
for violence, except it's a force-put. But it's like this. We've been
travelling for years to where we stand now--and here the road stops.
There's a precipice below and a rock-face above. And in front of us
stand the masters. Now there's three things we can do. We can either
throw ourselves over the precipice; or we can lie down and let the
masters walk over us; or we can GET ON.

WILLIE. Yes. That's all right. But how are you going to get on?

JOB ARTHUR. Well--we've either got to throw the obstacle down the
cliff--or walk over it.

VOICES. Ay--ay--ay--yes--that's a fact.

WILLIE. I quite follow you, Job Arthur. You've either got to do for the
masters--or else just remove them, and put them somewhere else.

VOICES. Get rid on 'em--drop 'em down the shaft--sink 'em--ha' done
wi' 'em--drop 'em down the shaft--bust the beggars--what do you do wi'
vermin?

WILLIE. Supposing you begin. Supposing you take Gerald Barlow, and
hang him up from his lamp-post, with a piece of coal in his mouth for a
sacrament---

VOICES. Ay--serve him right--serve the beggar right! Shove it down's
throttle--ay!

WILLIE. Supposing you do it--supposing you've done it--and supposing you
aren't caught and punished--even supposing that--what are you going to
do next?--THAT'S the point.

JOB ARTHUR. We know what we're going to do. Once we can get our hands
free, we know what we're going to do.

WILLIE. Yes, so do I. You're either going to make SUCH a mess that we
shall never get out of it--which I don't think you will do, for the
English working man is the soul of obedience and order, and he'd behave
himself to-morrow as if he was at Sunday school, no matter what he does
to-day.--No, what you'll do, Job Arthur, you'll set up another lot of
masters, such a jolly sight worse than what we've got now. I'd rather be
mastered by Gerald Barlow, if it comes to mastering, than by Job Arthur
Freer--oh, SUCH a lot! You'll be far less free with Job Arthur for
your boss than ever you were with Gerald Barlow. You'll be far more
degraded.--In fact, though I've preached socialism in the market-place
for thirty years--if you're going to start killing the masters to set
yourselves up as bosses--why, kill me along with the masters. For
I'd rather die with somebody who has one tiny little spark of decency
left--though it