HOBSON. 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--