MORELL. Yes, the lowest, because you paid worse wages than any
other employer--starvation wages--aye, worse than starvation
wages--to the women who made the clothing. Your wages would have
driven them to the streets to keep body and soul together.
(Getting angrier and. angrier.) Those women were my parishioners.
I shamed the Guardians out of accepting your tender: I shamed the
ratepayers out of letting them do it: I shamed everybody but you.
(Boiling over.) How dare you, sir, come here and offer to forgive
me, and talk about your daughter, and--

BURGESS. Easy, James, easy, easy. Don't git hinto a fluster about
nothink. I've howned I was wrong.

MORELL (fuming about). Have you? I didn't hear you.

BURGESS. Of course I did. I hown it now. Come: I harsk your
pardon for the letter I wrote you. Is that enough?

MORELL (snapping his fingers). That's nothing. Have you raised
the wages?

BURGESS (triumphantly). Yes.

MORELL (stopping dead). What!

BURGESS (unctuously). I've turned a moddle hemployer. I don't
hemploy no women now: they're all sacked; and the work is done by
machinery. Not a man 'as less than sixpence a hour; and the
skilled 'ands gits the Trade Union rate. (Proudly.) What 'ave you