[The bargemen are seen laughing. ]

Lewis. [Pointing.] Look at those two blanks over the fence there!

Bulgin. [With gloomy violence.] They’d best stop their cackle, or I ’ll break their jaws.

Jago. [Suddenly.] You say the furnace men’s paid enough?

Harness.  I did not say they were paid enough; I said they were paid as much as the furnace men in similar works elsewhere.

Evans.  That’s a lie! [Hubbub.] What about Harper’s?

Harness. [With cold irony.] You may look at home for lies, my man. 
Harper’s shifts are longer, the pay works out the same.

Henry Rous. [A dark edition of his brother George.] Will ye support us in double pay overtime Saturdays?

Harness.  Yes, we will.

Jago.  What have ye done with our subscriptions?

Harness. [Coldly.] I have told you what we will do with them.

Evans.  Ah! will, it’s always will!  Ye’d have our mates desert us. [Hubbub.]

Bulgin. [Shouting.] Hold your row!

     [Evans looks round angrily.]

Harness. [Lifting his voice.] Those who know their right hands from their lefts know that the Unions are neither thieves nor traitors.  I ’ve said my say.  Figure it out, my lads; when you want me you know where I shall be.

[He jumps down, the crowd gives way, he passes through them, and goes away.  A bargeman looks after him jerking his pipe with a derisive gesture.  The men close up in groups, and many looks are cast at Roberts, who stands alone against the wall.]

Evans.  He wants ye to turn blacklegs, that’s what he wants.  He wants ye to go back on us.  Sooner than turn blackleg—­I ’d starve, I would.

Bulgin.  Who’s talkin’ o’ blacklegs—­mind what you’re saying, will you?

Blacksmith. [A youth with yellow hair and huge arms.] What about the women?

Evans.  They can stand what we can stand, I suppose, can’t they?

Blacksmith.  Ye’ve no wife?

Evans.  An’ don’t want one!

Thomas. [Raising his voice.] Aye!  Give us the power to come to terms with London, lads.

Davies. [A dark, slow-fly, gloomy man.] Go up the platform, if you got anything to say, go up an’ say it.

     [There are cries of “Thomas!” He is pushed towards the
     platform; he ascends it with difficulty, and bares his head,
     waiting for silence.  A hush.]

Red-haired youth. [suddenly.] Coot old Thomas!

     [A hoarse laugh; the bargemen exchange remarks; a hush again,
     and Thomas begins speaking.]

Thomas.  We are all in the tepth together, and it iss Nature that has put us there.