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GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS

Links to All Volumes

THE FIRST SERIES:	The Silver Box	Joy	Strife
THE SECOND SERIES:	The Eldest Son	Little Dream	Justice
THE THIRD SERIES:	The Fugitive	The Pigeon	The Mob
THE FOURTH SERIES:	A Bit O'Love	The Foundations	The Skin Game
THE FIFTH SERIES:	A Family Man	Loyalties	Windows
THE SIXTH SERIES:	The First and Last	The Little Man	Four Short Plays

FIRST SERIES PLAYS

STRIFE

A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS

By John Galsworthy

STRIFE ACT I ACT II ACT III

STRIFE

A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS

The action takes place on February 7th between the hours of noon and six in the afternoon, close to the Trenartha Tin Plate Works, on the borders of England and Wales, where a strike has been in progress throughout the winter.

ACT I

WILDER. [Who is lean, cadaverous, and complaining, with drooping grey moustaches, stands before the fire.] I say, this fire's the devil! Can I have a screen, Tench?

SCANTLEBURY. A screen, ah!

TENCH. Certainly, Mr. Wilder. [He looks at UNDERWOOD.] That is— perhaps the Manager—perhaps Mr. Underwood——

SCANTLEBURY. These fireplaces of yours, Underwood——

UNDERWOOD. [Roused from studying some papers.] A screen? Rather! I'm sorry. [He goes to the door with a little smile.] We're not accustomed to complaints of too much fire down here just now.

WILDER. [In an injured voice.] You mean the men. H'm!

SCANTLEBURY. Poor devils!

WILDER. It's their own fault, Scantlebury.

EDGAR. [Holding out his paper.] There's great distress among them, according to the Trenartha News.

WILDER. Oh, that rag! Give it to Wanklin. Suit his Radical views. They call us monsters, I suppose. The editor of that rubbish ought to be shot.

EDGAR. [Reading.] "If the Board of worthy gentlemen who control the Trenartha Tin Plate Works from their arm-chairs in London would condescend to come and see for themselves the conditions prevailing amongst their work-people during this strike——"

WILDER. Well, we have come.

EDGAR. [Continuing.] "We cannot believe that even their leg-of-mutton hearts would remain untouched."

WILDER. Ruffian! I remember that fellow when he had n't a penny to his name; little snivel of a chap that's made his way by black-guarding everybody who takes a different view to himself.

WILDER. What does your father say?

EDGAR. He says "The kettle and the pot."

WILDER. H'm!

SCANTLEBURY. [Blowing out his cheeks.] I shall boil if I don't get that screen.

ENID. Put it closer, Frank. Will that do, Mr. Wilder? It's the highest we've got.

WILDER. Thanks, capitally.

SCANTLEBURY. [Turning, with a sigh of pleasure.] Ah! Merci, Madame!

ENID. Is there anything else you want, Father? [ANTHONY shakes his head.] Edgar—anything?

EDGAR. You might give me a "J" nib, old girl.

ENID. There are some down there by Mr. Scantlebury.