I'll choose a pair of husbands
for you, my girls. That's what I'll do.
ALICE. Can't we choose husbands for ourselves?
HOBSON. I've been telling you for the last five minutes you're
not even fit to choose dresses for yourselves.
MAGGIE. You're talking a lot to Vickey and Alice, father. Where
do I come in?
HOBSON. You? (_Turning on her, astonished_.)
MAGGIE. If you're dealing husbands round, don't I get one?
HOBSON. Well, that's a good one! (_Laughs_.) You with a
husband! (_Down in front of desk_.)
MAGGIE. Why not?
HOBSON. Why not? I thought you'd sense enough to know. But if you
want the brutal truth, you're past the marrying age. You're a
proper old maid, Maggie, if ever there was one.
MAGGIE. I'm thirty.
HOBSON (_facing her_). Aye, thirty and shelved. Well, all
the women can't get husbands. But you others, now. I've told you.
I'll have less uppishness from you or else I'll shove you off my
hands on to some other men. You can just choose which way you
like. (_He picks up hat and makes for door_.)
MAGGIE. One o'clock dinner, father.
HOBSON. See here, Maggie,--(_back again down to in front of
desk_)--I set the hours at this house. It's one o'clock dinner
because I say it is, and not because you do.
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