“Where is Slater?” asked one burly fellow.
“With the shift above,” came the reply in another voice. Then came groans from the rest. “Turn them out! Turn them out!”
“There is no need to turn us out,” said Alan with quiet dignity. “We will find rooms outside Marshfielden, and leave at the end of the week.”
“Leave now! Leave now!” cried a hoarse voice, which they recognized as belonging to Toby Skinner.
That was the one word needed to make the miners obstreperous. “Yes, go now, go now,” they cried. “By the end of the week all our babes may be gone.”
In vain the signal was given for the men to resume work; but they were free of their pent up feelings, and refused to listen to the strident tones of the bell that called them back to their duties.
Suddenly the manager’s voice was heard above the din and babel.
“Get to your work at once,” he thundered, “or take my word for it, there will be a general lockout to-morrow.”
Gradually the men quieted, relieved of the strain of the past few weeks, and slunk back to work.
“What’s the trouble?” asked Mr. Dickson, coming to the boys.