"Turn on that glim o' yours, guv'nor," he growled, "and mind where you're going. 'Ullo there?"
There was a confusion of answering voices.
"It's the guv'nor!" they heard some one say.
Then the light of Aaron Rodd's torch flashed upon the short, wooden dock, and upon the half-dozen men grouped at the top of the crazy steps at its furthest extremity. One of them came back. It was the man who had warned the poet and Aaron.
"Guv'nor," he said earnestly, "this ain't your show. You leave us alone and get back to the fight."
"That be damned!" Jacob Potts replied firmly. "It's no job of yourn to tell me wot to do. You know very well there's just one thing I stick at, and I asks you a plain question, Sid, and a plain answer expected. Is that bundle you're carrying a woman, or ain't it?"
"It's a woman," the man proclaimed doggedly, "and it's going on board the 'Amsterdam.'"
The answer of Jacob Potts was bellicose and unprintable. He strode along the little wharf, followed by Aaron Rodd and Cresswell. Behind came the man called Sid, his face darker and more evil than ever, his breath coming short with anger.
"Boys," Jacob Potts exclaimed, "drop that! You hear me? Women ain't in the game. You've all been told that."
There was a moment's hesitation. Then they heard the voice of their leader, hoarse and vicious.