Strife | Page 4

a Trades Union official
DAVID ROBERTS, | JAMES GREEN, | JOHN BULGIN, | the
workmen's committee HENRY THOMAS, | GEORGE ROUS, |
HENRY ROUS, | LEWIS, | JAGO, | EVANS, | workman at the

Trenartha Tin Plate Works A BLACKSMITH, | DAVIES, | A
RED-HAIRED YOUTH. | BROWN |
FROST, valet to John Anthony ENID UNDERWOOD, Wife of Francis
Underwood, daughter of John Anthony ANNIE ROBERTS, wife of
David Roberts MADGE THOMAS, daughter of Henry Thomas MRS.
ROUS, mother of George and Henry Rous MRS. BULGIN, wife of
John Bulgin MRS. YEO, wife of a workman A PARLOURMAID to
the Underwoods JAN, Madge's brother, a boy of ten A CROWD OF
MEN ON STRIKE

ACT I. The dining-room of the Manager's house.
ACT II, SCENE I. The kitchen of the Roberts's cottage near the works.
SCENE II. A space outside the works.
ACT III. The drawing-room of the Manager's house.

The action takes place on February 7th between the hours of noon and
six in the afternoon, close to the Trenartha Tin Plate Works, on the
borders of England and Wales, where a strike has been in progress
throughout the winter.

ACT I
It is noon. In the Underwoods' dining-room a bright fire is burning. On
one side of the fireplace are double-doors leading to the drawing-room,
on the other side a door leading to the hall. In the centre of the room a
long dining-table without a cloth is set out as a Board table. At the head
of it, in the Chairman's seat, sits JOHN ANTHONY, an old man, big,
clean- shaven, and high-coloured, with thick white hair, and thick dark
eyebrows. His movements are rather slow and feeble, but his eyes are
very much alive. There is a glass of water by his side. On his right sits
his son EDGAR, an earnest-looking man of thirty, reading a newspaper.
Next him WANKLIN, a man with jutting eyebrows, and silver-streaked
light hair, is bending over transfer papers. TENCH, the Secretary, a
short and rather humble, nervous man, with side whiskers, stands
helping him. On WANKLIN'S right sits UNDERWOOD, the Manager,
a quiet man, with along, stiff jaw, and steady eyes. Back to the fire is
SCANTLEBURY, a very large, pale, sleepy man, with grey hair, rather

bald. Between him and the Chairman are two empty chairs.
WILDER. [Who is lean, cadaverous, and complaining, with drooping
grey moustaches, stands before the fire.] I say, this fire's the devil! Can
I have a screen, Tench?
SCANTLEBURY. A screen, ah!
TENCH. Certainly, Mr. Wilder. [He looks at UNDERWOOD.] That
is-- perhaps the Manager--perhaps Mr. Underwood----
SCANTLEBURY. These fireplaces of yours, Underwood----
UNDERWOOD. [Roused from studying some papers.] A screen?
Rather! I'm sorry. [He goes to the door with a little smile.] We're not
accustomed to complaints of too much fire down here just now.
[He speaks as though he holds a pipe between his teeth, slowly,
ironically.]
WILDER. [In an injured voice.] You mean the men. H'm!
[UNDERWOOD goes out.]
SCANTLEBURY. Poor devils!
WILDER. It's their own fault, Scantlebury.
EDGAR. [Holding out his paper.] There's great distress among them,
according to the Trenartha News.
WILDER. Oh, that rag! Give it to Wanklin. Suit his Radical views.
They call us monsters, I suppose. The editor of that rubbish ought to be
shot.
EDGAR. [Reading.] "If the Board of worthy gentlemen who control the
Trenartha Tin Plate Works from their arm-chairs in London would
condescend to come and see for themselves the conditions prevailing
amongst their work-people during this strike----"
WILDER. Well, we have come.
EDGAR. [Continuing.] "We cannot believe that even their leg-of-
mutton hearts would remain untouched."
[WANKLIN takes the paper from him.]
WILDER. Ruffian! I remember that fellow when he had n't a penny to
his name; little snivel of a chap that's made his way by black- guarding
everybody who takes a different view to himself.
[ANTHONY says something that is not heard.]
WILDER. What does your father say?
EDGAR. He says "The kettle and the pot."
WILDER. H'm!

[He sits down next to SCANTLEBURY.]
SCANTLEBURY. [Blowing out his cheeks.] I shall boil if I don't get
that screen.
[UNDERWOOD and ENID enter with a screen, which they place
before the fire. ENID is tall; she has a small, decided face, and is
twenty-eight years old.]
ENID. Put it closer, Frank. Will that do, Mr. Wilder? It's the highest
we've got.
WILDER. Thanks, capitally.
SCANTLEBURY. [Turning, with a sigh of pleasure.] Ah! Merci,
Madame!
ENID. Is there anything else you want, Father? [ANTHONY shakes his
head.] Edgar--anything?
EDGAR. You might give me a "J" nib, old girl.
ENID. There are some down there by Mr. Scantlebury.
SCANTLEBURY. [Handing a little box of nibs.] Ah! your brother uses
"J's." What does the manager use? [With expansive politeness.] What
does your