‘Look at this man!’ he cried, pointing at Mutimer, who had drawn as far aside as the cart would let him.  ‘He’s been a-tellin’ you what he did when somebody died an’ left him a fortune.  There’s just one thing he’s forgot, an’ shall I tell you what that is?  When he was a workin’ man like ourselves, mates, he was a-goin’ to marry a pore girl, a workin’ girl.  When he gets his money, what does he do?  Why, he pitches her over, if you please, an’ marries a fine lady, as took him because he was rich—­that’s the way ladies always chooses their husbands, y’understand.’

He was interrupted by a terrific yell, but by dint of vigorous pantomime secured a hearing again.

’But wait a bit, maties; I haven’t done yet.  He pitches over the pore girl, but he does worse afterwards.  He sets a tale a-goin’ as she’d disgraced herself, as she wasn’t fit to be a honest man’s wife.  An’ it was all a damned lie, as lots of us knows.  Now what d’ye think o’ that!  This is a friend o’ the People, this is!  This is the man as ’as your interests at ’art, mates!  If he’ll do a thing like that, won’t he rob you of your savin’s?’

As soon as he knew what the man was about to speak of, Mutimer felt the blood rush back upon his heart.  It was as when a criminal hears delivered against him a damning item of evidence.  He knew that he was pale, that every feature declared his consciousness of guilt.  In vain he tried to face the mob and smile contemptuously.  His eyes fell; he stood without the power of speech.

The yell was repeated, and prolonged, owing to another cause than the accusation just heard.  When the accuser was borne forwards to the cart, a rumour spread among those more remote that an attack was being made on Mutimer and his friends.  The rumour reached that part of the Green where Redgrave was then haranguing.  At once the listeners faced about in the direction of the supposed conflict.  Redgrave himself leaped down, and called upon all supporters of Mutimer to follow him.  It was the crash between two crowds which led to the prolonging of the yell.

The meeting was over, the riot had begun.

Picture them, the indignant champions of honesty, the avengers of virtue defamed!  Demos was roused, was tired of listening to mere articulate speech; it was time for a good wild-beast roar, for a taste of bloodshed.  Scarcely a face in all the mob but distorted itself to express as much savagery as can be got out of the human countenance.  Mutimer, seeing what had come, sprang down from the cart.  He was at once carried yards away in an irresistible rush.  Impossible for him and his friends to endeavour to hold their ground:  they were too vastly outnumbered; the most they could do was to hold together and use every opportunity of retreat, standing in the meanwhile on the defensive.  There was no adequate body of police on the Green; the riot would take its course unimpeded by the hired servants of the capitalist State.  Redgrave little by little fought his way to within sight of Mutimer; he brought with him a small but determined contingent.  On all sides was the thud of blows, the indignant shouting of the few who desired to preserve order mingled with the clamour of those who combated.  Demos was having his way; civilisation was blotted out, and club law proclaimed.