“What time is it? There’s no treens, we s’ll ha’e ter walk.”
The street was alive with men.
“Who’s goin’ ter Nottingham ter see th’ match?” shouted the same big voice. A very large, tipsy man, with his cap over his eyes, was calling.
“Com’ on—aye, com’ on!” came many voices. The street was full of the shouting of men. They split up in excited cliques and groups.
“Play up, Notts!” the big man shouted.
“Plee up, Notts!” shouted the youths and men. They were at kindling pitch. It only needed a shout to rouse them. Of this the careful authorities were aware.
“I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” shouted the sick man at his window.
Lucy came running upstairs.
“I’m goin’ ter see Notts play Villa on th’ Meadows ground,” he declared.
“You—you can’t go. There are no trains. You can’t walk nine miles.”