"Not 'aving no Bert Robinson to
do it for me, I made a little speech all to myself, and here I am."
She dropped her apron, replaced the cigarette, and, with her hands on her
plump knees, eyes him steadily.
"But--but this ain't a factory," objected the dismayed man; "and, besides
--I won't 'ave it!"
Mrs. Porter laughed--a fat, comfortable laugh, but with a touch of
hardness in it.
"All right, mate," she said, comfortably. "What are you out on strike
for?"
"Shorter hours and more money," said Mr. Porter, glaring at her.
His wife nodded. "So am I," she said. "I wonder who gets it first?"
She smiled agreeably at the bewildered Mr. Porter, and, extracting a
paper packet of cigarettes from her pocket, lit a fresh one at the stub
of the first.
"That's the worst of a woman," said her husband, avoiding her eye and
addressing a sanitary dustbin of severe aspect; "they do things without
thinking first. That's why men are superior; before they do a thing they
look at it all round, and upside down, and--and--make sure it can be
done.
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