Look at us now. Men assistants in the
shop.
JIM. Cost more than women.
TUBBY. Cost? They'd be dear at any price. Look here, Mr. Heeler,
take yourself. When you go to buy a pair of boots do you like to
be tried on by a man or a nice soft young woman?
JIM. Well--
TUBBY. There you are. Stands to reason. It's human nature.
JIM. But there are two sides to that, Tubby. Look at the other.
TUBBY. Ladies?
JIM. Yes.
TUBBY. Ladies that are ladies wants trying on by their own sex,
and them that aren't buys clogs. It's the good-class trade that
pays, and Hobson's have lost it.
(_Enter_ HOBSON _up_ R., _unshaven, without collar.
He
comes down stage between them_.)
JIM (_with cheerful sympathy_). Well, Henry!
HOBSON (_with acute melancholy and self-pity_). Oh, Jim! Oh,
Jim! Oh, Jim!
TUBBY. Will you sit on the arm-chair by the fire or at the table?
HOBSON. The table? Breakfast? Bacon? Bacon, and I'm like this.
(JIM _assists him to arm-chair_.)
JIM. When a man's like this he wants a woman about the house,
Henry.
HOBSON (_sitting_). I'll want then.
TUBBY. Shall I go for Miss Maggie, sir?--Mrs. Mossop, I mean.
JIM. I think your daughters should be here.
HOBSON. They should. Only they're not.
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