Jack extracted himself from the "Push" to spit over the wharf-side, and then turned back again.
"Thirty shillings," he said.
"Is that what you get?" asked the Inquisitive One.
Canted back, hands in pockets, Jack leered at him.
"You hask thirty shillings then," said Cockney.
Big Mike pushed through.
"What are ye all talking about?" he said. "I tell ye what it is, now," he went on, turning to the stranger. "There's some of these fellers go over for tin shillin's; the most of them don't get more'n a pound, and when it's getting cold here you'll find 'em runnin' round and saying, 'I'll go for fifteen shillin's, mister.' But if ye came down from beyant in the cars yourself ye're all right. You fellers that come down from The Great Plains goes on with your own cattle on the ships if ye want."
Some of the lesser lights in the "Push" snarled.
"Want more than ten shillings," said the subject of their discussion. "Ten shillings for across the Atlantic! Good Lord!"
"There now! What was I tellin' ye?" asked Mike of Cockney.