You'll excuse me, sir, but it's what they don't want,--anyone to be granting them privileges, but to stand on their own feet, the same as you. I never rightly understood until just now,--and that because I was always looking up, while you'd be looking down, and seeing nothing but the bent backs of them. It's inside we must be looking, sir,--and God made us all the same, you and me, and Mr. George and my son Bert, and the Polak and his wife and childher. It's the strike in every one of us, sir,--and half the time we'd not know why we're striking! (ASHER: You're right there, Timothy) But that makes no difference, sir. It's what we can't be reasoning, but the nature in us all-- (He flings his arm toward the open windows.) --like the flowers and the trees in the doctor's garden groping to the light of the sun. Maybe the one'll die for lack of the proper soil, and many is cruelly trampled on, but the rest'll be growing, and none to stop 'em. ASHER (pacing to the end of the room, and turning). No, I won't listen to it! You--you ask me to yield to them, when you have lost your son, when they're willing to sacrifice--to murder my son on the field of battle? (He pauses and looks toward the doorway, right. DR. JONATHAN standing there, holding in his hand a yellow envelope. ASHER starts forward.) A telegram? For me?

Timothy Monologue from Dr. Jonathan

Rehearse Timothy's monologue