ROBERTS. Aye, they shall keep their souls, for it's not much body
that you've left them, Mr. [with biting emphasis, as though the word
were an offence] Scantlebury! [To the men.] Well, will you speak,
or shall I speak for you?

ROUS. [Suddenly.] Speak out, Roberts, or leave it to others.

ROBERTS. [Ironically.] Thank you, George Rous. [Addressing himself
to ANTHONY.] The Chairman and Board of Directors have honoured us by
leaving London and coming all this way to hear what we've got to say;
it would not be polite to keep them any longer waiting.

WILDER. Well, thank God for that!

ROBERTS. Ye will not dare to thank Him when I have done, Mr. Wilder,
for all your piety. May be your God up in London has no time to
listen to the working man. I'm told He is a wealthy God; but if he
listens to what I tell Him, He will know more than ever He learned in
Kensington.

HARNESS. Come, Roberts, you have your own God. Respect the God of
other men.

ROBERTS. That's right, sir. We have another God down here; I doubt
He is rather different to Mr. Wilder's. Ask Henry Thomas; he will
tell you whether his God and Mr. Wilder's are the same.

[THOMAS lifts his hand, and cranes his head as though to
prophesy.]