"I'll take my orders from Mr. Gilroy, and from nobody else," said Simons, defiantly.
"Well, you may take fair warning from me."
"That's as I like."
"It's as I like," said Naomi. "And look here, I won't waste more words upon you and I won't stand your impertinence. Better throw down your shears now—for I've done with you—before I call upon your mates to take them from you."
"We don't need calling, miss, not we!"
Half a dozen fine fellows had stepped forward, with Harry at their head, and the affair was over. Simons had flung his shears on the floor with a clatter and a curse, and was striding out of the shed amid the hisses and imprecations of his comrades.
Naomi would have got away, too, for she had had more than enough of the whole business, but this was not so easy. Someone raised three cheers for her. They were given with a roar that shook the iron roof like thunder. And to cap all this a gray old shearer planted himself in her path.
"It's just this way, miss," said he. "We liked Simons little enough, but, begging your pardon, we like Mr. Gilroy less. He doesn't know how to treat us at all. He has no idea of bossing a shed like this. And mark my words, miss, unless you remove that man, and give us some smarter gentleman like, say, young Mr. Chester——"
"Ay, Chester'll do!"
"He knows his business!"