“Brayvo, lad,” shouted Big Harry; “that’s faine.”
“Set down and shouthered wi’ fear,” continued Sim; “as they—as they—do be a bit sharper,” he whispered to Barker.
“Saw the nation rising in its might,” whispered the prompter.
“Saw the nation rising up wi’ all its might and main,” cried Sim. Then to Barker, “Shall I put it into ’em now?”
“Yes, yes; they’re ripe enough,” was the answer.
“And now, mates,” continued Sim, “it’s time as we rose up in our might, and showed him as is starving our wives and bairns what we can do when we’re trampled down, and that like the wums as is tread on, we can turn and sting the heel o’ the oppressors.”
“Good, good! Go on,” said the deputation, rubbing its hands.
“Are we to see a maulkin like Dickey Glaire, because he is an employer, always getting fat on the sweat of a pore man’s brow?”
“Go on! go on! Capital!” whispered Barker. “Fine himage.”
“What’s a himage?” said Sim, stopped in his flow.