[_He goes out jauntily._ GIBSON _has never moved from his chair; he turns his head, still not rising, and looks fixedly at_ NORA. _She slowly lifts her head, meets his eye; her head sinks again. He rises and slowly walks over to her, looking down at her. Then, bending still lower, she begins to cry._]
GIBSON: Well, Nora, what was the matter with it?
NORA [_not looking up_]: I don't know. What was?
GIBSON: You needed a manager to do what I had been doing.
NORA: Couldn't we have learned? Couldn't one of us?
NORA: Other people offered him more money.
GIBSON: Yes; he was the one man that all the rest of you depended on. He was worth more.
NORA: But were you worth all that you took? You took all that the business made.
GIBSON: Yes; and last year it was fifty thousand.
NORA: Were you actually worth that much to it?
GIBSON: Other men in the business think so. [_Shows her a letter._] Here's an offer from the Coles-Hibbard people, out in Cleveland, of that much salary to do for them what I did here.
NORA: It isn't right; you pay labour only what you have to pay.
GIBSON: The Coles-Hibbard people offer to pay me what they'd have to, and they're pretty hard-headed men. The whole world pays only what it has to.
GIBSON: Last winter I saw you in a three-dollar seat listening to Caruso. Have you ever given that much to the organ grinder who comes under these windows?
GIBSON: I think it will until human beings are as near alike as the ants and bees are. Your system is in full effect with them, but we--we strive; even in this fellowship here of yours the striving began to show.
NORA [_looking up at him appealingly_]: But are these inequalities _right_?
GIBSON [_gently, rather sadly_]: I don't know. I only know what is.
[_Smiles ruefully, away from him; then she turns again to him._]
[_Her head droops again. Angry voices are heard, growing louder as they approach. The door is thrown open, and the members of the committee, noisily talking, appear in the doorway._]
SHOMBERG: Shovin' his run-down factory off onto us!
RILEY [_fiercely_]: You never give us no deed to this plant, Mr. Gibson!
SIMPSON: They ain't a court in the land'll hold us to it!
CARTER: No, sir; and we've voted this is your factory, Mr. Gibson! We ain't responsible!