“Yes, brother sitterzens,” said Slee, “there’s the powther to place, and the train to lay. What do you say to Thuzday, this day week?”
“And when’s it to be fired?” said Tom Podmore.
“Same time,” said Sim; “it’s anniversary o’ last turn out, and we strikes for freedom. Who comes forward like a horny-handed hero to do the deed?”
“Not me,” said Big Harry. “I aint going to mak’ a Guy Fox o’ mysen.”
“Shame on you!” cried Sim. “Rise outer the slime in which you wallows, and in which the iron foot of the despot has crushed you. Rise, base coward, rise.”
“If thee ca’s me a coward, Sim Slee,” growled Harry, ominously, “dal me ef I don’t mak’ all thee bones so sore thee wean’t know thee sen. I’ll faight any two men i’ the room, but dal all barrels o’ powther.”
“Bah!” said Sim, contemptuously. “You’d be a martyr to a holy cause.”
“Come away, now,” whispered Tom Podmore, laying his hand on the foreman’s shoulder.
“Nay, let’s hear them out,” was the reply. “Ay, that’s all faine enew,” said Big Harry, “but I were in the blast when we cast that bell in the wet mowld.”
“Bah!” cried Sim.