Roberts. [Starting forward.] Rous!

Rous. [Staring at him fiercely.] Sim ’Arness said fair!  I’ve changed my mind!

Roberts.  Ah!  Turned your coat you mean!

     [The crowd manifests a great surprise.]

Lewis. [Apostrophising Rous.] Hallo!  What’s turned him round?

Rous. [Speaking with intense excitement.] ’E said fair.  “Stand by us,” ’e said, “and we’ll stand by you.”  That’s where we’ve been makin’ our mistake this long time past; and who’s to blame fort? [He points at Roberts] That man there!  “No,” ’e said, “fight the robbers,” ‘e said, “squeeze the breath out o’ them!” But it’s not the breath out o’ them that’s being squeezed; it’s the breath out of us and ours, and that’s the book of truth.  I’m no orator, mates, it’s the flesh and blood in me that’s speakin’, it’s the heart o’ me. [With a menacing, yet half-ashamed movement towards Roberts.] He’ll speak to you again, mark my words, but don’t ye listen. [The crowd groans.] It’s hell fire that’s on that man’s tongue. [Roberts is seen laughing.] Sim ’Arness is right.  What are we without the Union—­handful o’ parched leaves—­a puff o’ smoke.  I’m no orator, but I say:  Chuck it up!  Chuck it up!  Sooner than go on starving the women and the children.

     [The murmurs of acquiescence almost drown the murmurs of
     dissent.]

Evans.  What’s turned you to blacklegging?

Rous. [With a furious look.] Sim ’Arness knows what he’s talking about.  Give us power to come to terms with London; I’m no orator, but I say—­have done wi’ this black misery!

[He gives his muter a twist, jerks his head back, and jumps off the platform.  The crowd applauds and surges forward.  Amid cries of “That’s enough!” “Up Union!” “Up Harness!” Roberts quietly ascends the platform.  There is a moment of silence.]

Blacksmith.  We don’t want to hear you.  Shut it!

Henry Rous.  Get down!

     [Amid such cries they surge towards the platform.]

Evans. [Fiercely.] Let ’im speak!  Roberts!  Roberts!

Bulgin. [Muttering.] He’d better look out that I don’t crack his skull.

     [Roberts faces the crowd, probing them with his eyes till they
     gradually become silent.  He begins speaking.  One of the
     bargemen rises and stands.]

Roberts.  You don’t want to hear me, then?  You’ll listen to Rous and to that old man, but not to me.  You’ll listen to Sim Harness of the Union that’s treated you so fair; maybe you’ll listen to those men from London?  Ah!  You groan!  What for?  You love their feet on your necks, don’t you? [Then as Bulgin elbows his way towards the platform, with calm bathos.] You’d like to break my jaw, John Bulgin.  Let me speak, then do your smashing,