that dreadful moment when the poor, good, stupid working man beats on the table and cries out, “O God, send me some work!” This was not dramatic exaggeration, it was a touch from life. That cry must have been uttered, in almost those words, in tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of English homes, during the past fifteen years. But, I think not again—or at least, not so often. That is the real point: people are ceasing to kick against the pricks.
