Then the Archdeacon's voice loudly uplifted overwhelmed all others.
"O, for an hour of the Kaiser!—He'd deal with em. The one man left in Europe—now my poor Emperah's gone. Lloyd George ... Bowing the knee to Baal ... Traitors to their country ... Want a lesson ... What can you expect?" He mouthed away grandiloquently in detached sentences to the air in general; and nobody paid any attention to him.
Near by, Mr. Pigott, red and ruffled, was asking what the Army had to do with it?—who wanted the soldiers?—why not leave it to the civilians?—with a provocative glance at the Colonel.
Then there was a noise of marching in the street, and a body of working-men drew up outside the door.
"Who are those fellows?" asked the Archdeacon loudly.
"Workers from the East-end, old cock," shouted one of them as offensively through the door. "Come to sign on as Specials! And just as good a right here as you have...."
The leader of the men in the street broke away from them and shouldered into the yard, battle in his eye.
It was Joe Burt, who, as the Colonel had once remarked, was sometimes a wise statesman, and sometimes a foaming demagogue. To-day he was the latter at his worst.
"What did I tell yo?" he said to the Colonel roughly. "Bringin oop the Army against us. Royal Engineers driving trains and all! It's a disgrace."
The Colonel reasoned with him.