GIBSON: That is to say, it means the elimination of me.
MIFFLIN [_jovially_]: Precisely! Precisely!
GIBSON [_as another workingman strides into the room_]: What do you
want, Shomberg?
SHOMBERG: Them new windows in the assembling room--they're no good.
GIBSON: We've just spent twelve hundred dollars fixing them as you said
you wanted them. What's the matter with them?
SHOMBERG: They don't give no light.
MIFFLIN: None at all?
SHOMBERG: It's right next to none at all! The men are goin' to lay off
if they got to work in that room. They're goin' out anyway at twelve
o'clock.
FRANKEL: Now look here, Mr. Gibson, if I was running this factory--
GIBSON: You're not, Frankel!
SHOMBERG: Well, why can't you listen to him? Don't we even get no
hearing? I guess if I was running this factory once, the first thing I'd
do I'd anyhow try to listen what the troubles is and make my men
contented.
GIBSON: What would you do if you were running the factory, Carter? You
haven't said.
CARTER: I ain't had the chance to say. Now what I'd do, first I'd settle
all the grievances so there wouldn't be no more complaints.
GIBSON: Well, here's one coming I might leave to you on that basis.
[_Enter_ SIMPSON, _an elderly worker in overalls and jumper;
and_ SALVATORE, _a New Yorkized Italian type, a formerly
lighted cigarette dangling from his lips._]
SALVATORE: Our department's goin' to walk out at twelve, noon, Mr.
Gibson.
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