[A prolonged murmur from the crowd.]

Jago. [Sullenly.] Talk about what you know.

Harness. [Lifting his voice above the murmur.] Know? [With cold passion.] All that you’ve been through, my friend, I ’ve been through—­I was through it when I was no bigger than [pointing to a youth] that shaver there; the Unions then were n’t what they are now.  What’s made them strong?  It’s hands together that ’s made them strong.  I ’ve been through it all, I tell you, the brand’s on my soul yet.  I know what you ’ve suffered—­there’s nothing you can tell me that I don’t know; but the whole is greater than the part, and you are only the part.  Stand by us, and we will stand by you.

     [Quartering them with his eyes, he waits.  The murmuring swells;
     the men form little groups.  Green, Bulgin, and Lewis talk
     together.]

Lewis.  Speaks very sensible, the Union chap.

Green. [Quietly.] Ah! if I ’d a been listened to, you’d ’ave ’eard sense these two months past.

     [The bargemen are seen laughing. ]

Lewis. [Pointing.] Look at those two blanks over the fence there!

Bulgin. [With gloomy violence.] They’d best stop their cackle, or I ’ll break their jaws.

Jago. [Suddenly.] You say the furnace men’s paid enough?

Harness.  I did not say they were paid enough; I said they were paid as much as the furnace men in similar works elsewhere.

Evans.  That’s a lie! [Hubbub.] What about Harper’s?

Harness. [With cold irony.] You may look at home for lies, my man. 
Harper’s shifts are longer, the pay works out the same.

Henry Rous. [A dark edition of his brother George.] Will ye support us in double pay overtime Saturdays?

Harness.  Yes, we will.

Jago.  What have ye done with our subscriptions?

Harness. [Coldly.] I have told you what we will do with them.

Evans.  Ah! will, it’s always will!  Ye’d have our mates desert us. [Hubbub.]

Bulgin. [Shouting.] Hold your row!

     [Evans looks round angrily.]

Harness. [Lifting his voice.] Those who know their right hands from their lefts know that the Unions are neither thieves nor traitors.  I ’ve said my say.  Figure it out, my lads; when you want me you know where I shall be.

[He jumps down, the crowd gives way, he passes through them, and goes away.  A bargeman looks after him jerking his pipe with a derisive gesture.  The men close up in groups, and many looks are cast at Roberts, who stands alone against the wall.]

Evans.  He wants ye to turn blacklegs, that’s what he wants.  He wants ye to go back on us.  Sooner than turn blackleg—­I ’d starve, I would.