VOICES (after a pause).  Nip his neck!  Make him yelp!

OLIVER.  Let me answer, then.—­Because it’s worse, perhaps, to be bullied by three thousand men than by one man.

VOICES.  Oh!—­oh!—­dog keeps barking—­stuff his mouth—­stop him up—­ here’s a bit of paper—­answer, Barlow—­nip his neck—­stuff his mug—­ make him yelp—­cork the bottle!

(They press a lump of newspaper into OLIVER’S mouth, and bear down on GERALD.)

JOB ARTHUR.  Quiet—­quiet—­quiet a minute, everybody.  We give him a minute—­we give him a minute to answer.

VOICES.  Give him a minute—­a holy minute—­say your prayers, Barlow—­ you’ve got a minute—­tick-tick, says the clock—­time him!

JOB ARTHUR.  Keep quiet.

WILLIE.  Of all the damned, cowardly—–­

VOICES.  Sh-h-h!—­Squeeze him—­throttle him!  Silence is golden,
Houghton.—­Close the shutters, Willie’s dead.—­Dry up, wet whiskers!

JOB ARTHUR.  You’ve fifteen seconds.

VOICES.  There’s a long, long trail a-winding—–­

JOB ARTHUR.  The minute’s up.—­We ask you again, Gerald Barlow, why you refused a just and fair demand, when you know it was against the wishes of three thousand men all as good as yourself.

VOICES.  And a sight better—­I don’t think—­we’re not all vermin—­ we’re not all crawlers, living off the sweat of other folks—­we’re not all parish vermin—­parish vermin.

JOB ARTHUR.  And on what grounds do you think you have no occasion to answer the straightforward question we put you here?

ANABEL (after a pause).  Answer them, Gerald.  What’s the use of prolonging this?

GERALD.  I’ve nothing to answer.

VOICES.  Nothing to answer—­Gerald, darling—­Gerald, duckie—­oh, lovey-dovey—­I’ve nothing to answer—­no, by God—­no, by God, he hasna—­nowt to answer—­ma’e him find summat, then—­answer for him—­ gi’e him’s answer—­let him ha’e it—­go on—­mum—­mum—­lovey-dovey—­ rub his nose in it—­kiss the dirt, ducky—­bend him down—­rub his nose in—­he’s saying something—­oh, no, he isn’t—­sorry I spoke—­ bend him down!

JOB ARTHUR.  Quiet a bit—­quiet everybody—­he’s got to answer—­keep quiet.—­Now—–­ (A silence.) Now then, Barlow, will you answer, or won’t you? (Silence.)

ANABEL.  Answer them, Gerald—­never mind.

VOICES.  Sh-h-h!  Sh-h-h! (Silence.)

JOB ARTHUR.  You won’t answer, Barlow?

VOICE.  Down the beggar!

VOICES.  Down him—­put his nose down—­flatten him!

(The crowd surges and begins to howl—­they sway dangerously—­GERALD is spread-eagled on the floor, face down.)

JOB ARTHUR.  Back—­back—­back a minute—­back—­back! (They recoil.)

WILLIE.  I HOPE there’s a God in heaven.

VOICES.  Put him down—­flatten him!