Quite another man was Daniel Dabbs:  in him you saw the proletarian pure and simple.  He was thick-set, square-shouldered, rolling in gait; he walked with head bent forward and eyes glancing uneasily, as if from lack of self-confidence.  His wiry black hair shone with grease, and no accuracy of razor-play would make his chin white.  A man of immense strength, but bull-necked and altogether ungainly—­his heavy fist, with its black veins and terrific knuckles, suggested primitive methods of settling dispute; the stumpy fingers, engrimed hopelessly, and the filthy broken nails, showed how he wrought for a living.  His face, if you examined it without prejudice, was not ill to look upon; there was much good humour about the mouth, and the eyes, shrewd enough, could glimmer a kindly light His laughter was roof-shaking—­always a good sign in a man.

‘And what have you got to say of these fine doings, Mr. Dabbs?’ Mrs. Mutimer asked him.

’Why, it’s like this ‘era, Mrs. Mutimer,’ Daniel began, having seated himself, with hands on widely-parted knees.  ’As far as the theory goes, I’m all for Dick; any man must be as knows his two times two.  But about the Longwoods; well, I tell Dick they’ve a perfect right to get rid of him, finding him a dangerous enemy, you see.  It was all fair and above board.  Young Stephen Longwood ups an’ says—­leastways not in these words, but them as means the same—­says he, “Look ’ere, Mutimer,” he says, “we’ve no fault to find with you as a workman, but from what we hear of you, it seems you don’t care much for us as employers.  Hadn’t you better find a shop as is run on Socialist principles?” That’s all about it, you see; it’s a case of incompatible temperaments; there’s no ill-feelin’, not as between man and man, And that’s what I say, too.’

‘Now, Dick,’ said Mrs. Mutimer, ’before you begin your sermon, who’s a-going to fetch my beer?’

‘Right, Mrs. Mutimer!’ cried Daniel, slapping his leg.  ’That’s what I call coming from theory to practice.  Beer squares all—­leastways for the time being—­only for the time being, Dick.  Where’s the jug?  Better give me two jugs; we’ve had a thirsty night of it.’

‘We’ll make capital of this!’ said Richard, walking about the room in Daniel’s absence.  ’The great point gained is, they’ve shown they’re afraid of me.  We’ll write it up in the paper next week, see if we don’t!  It’ll do us a sight of good.’

‘And where’s your weekly wages to come from?’ inquired his mother.

’Oh, I’ll look after that.  I only wish they’d refuse me all round; the more of that kind of thing the better for us.  I’m not afraid but I can earn my living.’

Through all this Emma Vine had sat with her thoughtful eyes constantly turned on Richard.  It was plain how pride struggled with anxiety in her mind.  When Richard had kept silence for a moment, she ventured to speak, having tried in vain to meet his look.

‘Jane’s ill again, Richard,’ she said.