Joe boiled over.
"That's the gentleman of England touch!" he sneered. "Swear away a workin man's life for the price of half a pint, they would!"
"Ah! I know him!" muttered Ernie, white still, and trembling.
"Enough of it now," growled a big policeman, making notes in his pocket-book.
Just then the crowd parted and a woman came through. A shawl was wrapped about her head and face. Only her eyes were seen, dark under dark hair.
A moment she stood surrounded by the four men who had desired or possessed her. Then she put her hand on the shirt-sleeve of her husband.
"Ern," she said, and turned away.
He followed her submissively through the crowd, slipping his shirt over his head.
Swiftly the woman walked away up the hill. Her scarecrow, his trousers sopping and sagging about his boots, trudged behind.
The crowd looked after them in silence. Then Joe broke away and followed at a distance.