Tench.  Will you come in, please?

     [Enter Thomas, green, Bulgin, and rous, who file up in a row
     past the little table.  Tench sits down and writes.  All eyes
     are foxed on Anthony, who makes no sign.]

Wanklin. [Stepping up to the little table, with nervous cordiality.] Well, Thomas, how’s it to be?  What’s the result of your meeting?

Rous.  Sim Harness has our answer.  He’ll tell you what it is.  We’re waiting for him.  He’ll speak for us.

Wanklin.  Is that so, Thomas?

Thomas. [Sullenly.] Yes.  Roberts will not pe coming, his wife is dead.

Scantlebury.  Yes, yes!  Poor woman!  Yes!  Yes!

Frost. [Entering from the hall.] Mr. Harness, Sir!

     [As harness enters he retires.]

     [Harness has a piece of paper in his hand, he bows to the
     Directors, nods towards the men, and takes his stand behind the
     little table in the very centre of the room.]

Harness.  Good evening, gentlemen.

     [Tench, with the paper he has been writing, joins him, they
     speak together in low tones.]

Wilder.  We’ve been waiting for you, Harness.  Hope we shall come to some——­

Frost. [Entering from the hall.] Roberts!

     [He goes.]

     [Roberts comes hastily in, and stands staring at Anthony.  His
     face is drawn and old.]

Roberts.  Mr. Anthony, I am afraid I am a little late, I would have been here in time but for something that—­has happened. [To the men.] Has anything been said?

Thomas.  No!  But, man, what made ye come?

Roberts.  Ye told us this morning, gentlemen, to go away and reconsider our position.  We have reconsidered it; we are here to bring you the men’s answer. [To Anthony.] Go ye back to London.  We have nothing for you.  By no jot or tittle do we abate our demands, nor will we until the whole of those demands are yielded.

     [Anthony looks at him but does not speak.  There is a movement
     amongst the men as though they were bewildered.]

Harness.  Roberts!

Roberts. [Glancing fiercely at him, and back to Anthony.] Is that clear enough for ye?  Is it short enough and to the point?  Ye made a mistake to think that we would come to heel.  Ye may break the body, but ye cannot break the spirit.  Get back to London, the men have nothing for ye?

     [Pausing uneasily he takes a step towards the unmoving Anthony.]

Edgar.  We’re all sorry for you, Roberts, but——­

Roberts.  Keep your sorrow, young man.  Let your father speak!

Harness. [With the sheet of paper in his hand, speaking from behind the little table.] Roberts!