We're holding up the roof!
Lion.
Come down!
You've held her up too long already!
(There has been a pounding of hammers and a creaking as of timbers being loosened. Sighs and groans fill the hall. The lights burn unsteadily, flashing or going out or glowing with a tint of blue)
Voices.
Help us, Sam Williams! Help us! Help us!
Other Voices.
Let 'em alone! They're scabs! They're scabs!
(Carven figures, still rigid, come from the walls. From everywhere they come, in the most fantastic postures, some hopping with one leg lifted, some gliding with raised axes, others bent and in pairs carrying cross-cut saws, still others with peavies in their hands. Up through the floor all round come dark figures with torches in their caps. Stealthily and with muffled voices they gather about the Lion. Suddenly the pounding ceases and all is still)
A Voice.