iker; when it comes to your salary you could
pretty near set it yourself.

GIBSON: I'm afraid I've already had an offer that would keep me from
accepting, Frankel.

FRANKEL: When the time comes I'll git a manager somewhere; no place like
this can't run itself; I seen that much.

GIBSON: Even if I didn't have an offer, Frankel, I doubt if I'd accept
yours. You know I used to have some little trouble here.

FRANKEL: You got my sympathy now! I got troubles myself here. [_Hastily
drinks another glass of water._] Well, where's that meeting? They're
late, ain't they?

CARTER: If they are it's your fault. Them wops of yours won't hardly let
a body git by out yonder.

[SALVATORE _and_ SHOMBERG _come in from the factory_, SALVATORE
_pausing in the doorway to shout in the direction of an audible
disturbance in the distance._]

SALVATORE: Oh, shut up; you'll git your pay!

[_Following_ SALVATORE _come_ SIMPSON _and his wife and_ RILEY. _They
all speak rather casually but not uncordially to_ GIBSON. MIFFLIN _is
with them, his hand on_ SIMPSON'S _shoulder. The outbreak outside
subsides in favour of a speech of extreme violence in a foreign
language. Italian, Yiddish, or whatever it is, it seems most passionate,
and by a good orator. It continues to be heard as the members of the
committee take their seats at the big table._ MIFFLIN _beams and nods
at_ GIBSON; _and takes his seat with the committee._]

SHOMBERG [_hotly, to_ MRS. SIMPSON]: Here, you ain't a member of this
committee! Git her chair away from her there, Salvatore! She's got no
right here!

MRS. SIMPSON: Oh, I haven't?

SHOMBERG: Already twice this morning I got hell from my own wife the way
this woman treats her tryin' to chase her out the factory. You think
you're on this committee?

MRS. SIMPSON [_taking a chair triumphantly_]: My husband is. I was here
last time, and I'm goin' to keep on.

CARTER [_referring to the speech in the factory_]: My goodness! We can't
do no work.

RILEY: Frankel, that's your business to shut 'em up.

FRANKEL: Talkin' ain't doin' no harm. Let 'em talk.

RILEY: Yes, I will! [_Goes to the door, and roars_]: Cut that out! I
mean business! [_Shuts the door and returns angrily to his seat._]

CARTER [_rapping on the table with a ruler_]: The meeting will now come
to order! Minutes of the last meeting will now be read by the secretary.

MIFFLIN [_to_ GIBSON, _beaming_]: You see?

NORA [_rising, minute book in