“Oh, I can stay away,” said Slee, in an injured tone; but his fellow-workmen held to his side, and, to Mrs Glaire’s great relief, an amicable settlement was arrived at, and the men were about to go, when Banks, the old foreman, burst into the place in a towering passion.
“Howd hard theer,” he roared, looking fiercely round. “You’re a pretty set o’ cowardly shacks, you are. Do you call that a fighting fair?”
“What is it, Banks?” exclaimed Richard, starting.
“Don’t make no terms wi’ ’em at all, for they wean’t keep to ’em, the blackguards.”
“But what is it?” cried Richard, impatiently.
“What is it? What is it, Missus Glaire? Why, I was watching here mysen till nine o’clock, and left all safe.”
“Well?” cried Richard, turning pale.
“Look here, Joe Banks,” cried the man who had been speaking before; “tak’ it a bit easy, theer. None o’ us ain’t done nowt, ha’e we, lads?”
“No,” was chorused, Sim Slee’s voice being the loudest.
“Done nowt!” roared Banks, like an angry lion. “D’yer call it nowt to steal into a man’s place, and coot and carry off every band in t’ whole works?”