I am responsible for all work turned out here.
MRS. HEPWORTH. I never said you weren't.
(TUBBY WADLOW _comes up trap. A white-haired little man with
thin legs and a paunch, in dingy clothes with no collar and a
coloured cotton shirt. He has no coat on_.)
TUBBY. Yes, Miss Maggie? (_He stands half out of trap, not
coming right up_.)
MRS. HEPWORTH. Man, did you make these boots? (_She rises and
advances one pace towards him_.)
TUBBY. No, ma'am.
MRS. HEPWORTH. Then who did? Am I to question every soul in the
place before I find out? (_Looking round_.)
TUBBY. They're Willie's making, those.
MRS. HEPWORTH. Then tell Willie I want him.
TUBBY. Certainly, ma'am. (_He goes down trap and calls_
"Willie!")
MRS. HEPWORTH. Who's Willie?
HOBSON. Name of Mossop, madam. But if there is anything wrong I
assure you I'm capable of making the man suffer for it. I'll--
(WILLIE MOSSOP _comes up trap. He is a lanky fellow, about
thirty, not naturally stupid but stunted mentally by a brutalized
childhood. He is a raw material of a charming man, but, at
present, it requires a very keen eye to detect his
potentialities. His clothes are an even poorer edition of_
TUBBY'S. _He comes half-way up trap_.)
MRS. HEPWORTH (_standing_ R.
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