I didn't strike a woman--I struck my daughter.
MAYOR. Well, but she's not a child, you know. And you did resist the
police, if no worse. Come! You'd have been the first to maintain
British justice. Shake 'ands!
BUILDER. Is that what you came for?
MAYOR. [Taken aback] Why--yes; nobody can be more sorry than I--
BUILDER. Eye-wash! You came to beg me to resign.
MAYOR. Well, it's precious awkward, Builder. We all feel--
BUILDER. Save your powder, Mayor. I've slept on it since I wrote you
that note. Take my resignations.
MAYOR. [In relieved embarrassment] That's right. We must face your
position.
BUILDER. [With a touch of grim humour] I never yet met a man who
couldn't face another man's position.
MAYOR. After all, what is it?
BUILDER. Splendid isolation. No wife, no daughters, no Councillorship,
no Magistracy, no future--[With a laugh] not even a French maid. And
why? Because I tried to exercise a little wholesome family authority.
That's the position you're facing, Mayor.
MAYOR. Dear, dear! You're devilish bitter, Builder. It's unfortunate,
this publicity. But it'll all blow over; and you'll be back where you
were. You've a good sound practical sense underneath your temper.
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