“Dal it all, Joe Banks,” cried Sim, stamping with rage, “what d’yer want to go spoiling the climax like that how! You didn’t make the plans.”
“You are going to blow up the place as that cursed smooth-tongued liar will not agree for you to work?”
“Yes,” said Sim, sulkily, “that’s it.”
“Lads,” said Banks, “a week ago and I couldn’t ha’ done this. If he had shown but the least bit as he was sorry for what had passed, I’d ha’ forgiven him. But I went to him to-day. I found him sitting in his garden smoking, and careless of the sufferings of his men. I went to him wi’out anger, but humbly, and begged of him to open the wucks again for the sake o’ the wives and bairns ’most pining wi’ hunger, and then—then—”
Joe Banks put his hand to his throat, for he was choking, but struggling bravely he went on.
“Then I begged on him to give me some tiding o’ my poor bairn. I begged it o’ him humbly, just to tell me she weer alive, and well; and to let me know wheer we might send a line to her; for, lads, I’ve been broken and down like, and ready to do owt to get sight o’ her again for her mother’s sake, for she’s ’bout worn out wi’ sorrow. I asked him this.”
Banks stopped with his face working amidst the most profound silence, while Tom Podmore took his hand, which was heartily pressed, and Big Harry, after rubbing his eyes with his knuckles like a great schoolboy, crossed over, to double up his fists and say—
“Joe Banks, say the word, mun, and I’ll go oop t’house, an’ crack him like a nut.”
“You as has bairns wean’t think me an owd fool for this,” said Banks, huskily. “Yow can feel for me.”
“Ay, owd lad, we do that,” rose in chorus; and then the foreman went on, with his voice gathering strength as he proceeded.