Lewis.  There’s a spitfire, for ye!

Bulgin. [Growling.] I’ll smash ’er jaw.

Green.  If I’d a-been listened to, that poor woman——­

Thomas.  It’s a judgment on him for going against Chapel.  I tolt him how ’t would be!

Evans.  All the more reason for sticking by ’im. [A cheer.] Are you goin’ to desert him now ’e ’s down?  Are you going to chuck him over, now ’e ’s lost ’is wife?

     [The crowd is murmuring and cheering all at once.]

Rous. [Stepping in front of platform.] Lost his wife!  Aye!  Can’t ye see?  Look at home, look at your own wives!  What’s to save them?  Ye’ll have the same in all your houses before long!

Lewis.  Aye, aye!

Henry Rous.  Right!  George, right!

     [There are murmurs of assent.]

Rous.  It’s not us that’s blind, it’s Roberts.  How long will ye put up with ’im!

Henry, Rous, Bulgin, Davies.  Give ’im the chuck!

     [The cry is taken up.]

Evans. [Fiercely.] Kick a man that’s down?  Down?

Henry Rous.  Stop his jaw there!

     [Evans throws up his arm at a threat from Bulgin.  The bargeman,
     who has lighted the lantern, holds it high above his head.]

Rous. [Springing on to the platform.] What brought him down then, but ‘is own black obstinacy?  Are ye goin’ to follow a man that can’t see better than that where he’s goin’?

Evans.  He’s lost ’is wife.

Rous.  An’ who’s fault’s that but his own.  ’Ave done with ’im, I say, before he’s killed your own wives and mothers.

Davies.  Down ’im!

Henry Rous.  He’s finished!

Brown.  We’ve had enough of ’im!

Blacksmith.  Too much!

     [The crowd takes up these cries, excepting only Evans, Jago, and
     green, who is seen to argue mildly with the Blacksmith.]

Rous. [Above the hubbub.] We’ll make terms with the Union, lads.

     [Cheers.]

Evans. [Fiercely.] Ye blacklegs!

Bulgin. [Savagely-squaring up to him.] Who are ye callin’ blacklegs, Rat?

[Evans throws up his fists, parries the blow, and returns it.  They fight.  The bargemen are seen holding up the lantern and enjoying the sight.  Old Thomas steps forward and holds out his hands.]

Thomas.  Shame on your strife!

     [The Blacksmith, brown, Lewis, and the red-haired youth pull
     Evans and Bulgin apart.  The stage is almost dark.]

The curtain falls.

ACT III