“Here he comes! Here comes the downtrodden, ill-used paytriot, who has served the rotten family for thirty year, and then been robbed for his pains. He’s agoing to join my brotherhood now, lads—him and Tom Podmore.”
“Hooray!” cried the men.
“And he’ll be a captain and a leader among us as is going to beat down the oppressors and robbers of our flocks and herds. He’s agoing, lads, to pull down with us the bloated Aristorchus, as is living on his oil olive, and honey, while we heven’t bread to put in the mouths of our bairns.”
There was a groan here from the little crowd, some of whom readily accepted Sim Slee’s Aristorchus, as they would have taken in any loud-sounding word in their present humour.
“Come on, brave captain, as hev had your eye-lids opened to the malice and wickedness of your employer, and join them as is going to groan no more under the harrows and ploughshares of oppression. It is said as the ox or beast shan’t be muzzled as treadeth out the corn, and we aint agoing to let that oppressor, Dicky Glaire, muzzle us any more.”
“Hooray!” cried the growing crowd.
“Come on, then, brave captain. Lads, Joe Banks is a man as we’ll be proud to serve wi’; and wi’ Tom Podmore too, for they’ve cast off their slough”—Sim called this “sluff”—“of blindness, and hev awaked to the light and glory of liberty. Come on.”
“What do you mean?” said Joe Banks, firmly.
“Mean, brave captain and leader!” cried Sim, making his plaid waistcoat wrinkle with his exertions; “why, that we’re going to trample down him as robbed thee of thy bairn.”
“Who’s that?” said Joe Banks, sternly.