“Had you not better try and find out the offender, Mr Glaire?” interposed the vicar, who saw the men’s lowering looks. “Don’t punish the innocent with the guilty.”
“Well spoke, parson,” cried a voice.
“You mind your own business, sir,” shouted Richard. “I know how to deal with my own workmen. You struck for wages, and you assaulted me. I’ll strike now, you cowards, for I’ll lock you out. The furnaces are cold; let them stop cold, for I’ll lose thousands before I’ll give in. I’ll make an example of you all.”
“You’ll repent this, Mester Richard Glaire,” shouted Slee.
“I’ll repent when I see you in gaol, you mouthing demagogue!” cried Richard. “Now, get off my premises, all of you, for I’ll hold no more intercourse with any of the lot.”
“But I tell you, Mester,” said the leader, a short, honest-looking fellow, “it’s—”
“Be off, I tell you!” shouted Richard. “Where are my bands?”
The man wiped his forehead, and looked at his companions, who one and all looked from one to another, and then, as if feeling that there was a guilty man amongst them—one who had, as it were, cut the ground from beneath their feet—they slowly backed out, increasing their pace though, towards the last, as if each one was afraid of being left.
“Go after them, Banks, and see them off the premises,” said Richard, with a triumphant look in his eye. “Let’s see who’ll be master now.”
The foreman went after the deputation, and there was a low murmuring in the yard, but the men all went off quietly, and the great gates were heard to clang to.