“Well, lad, look here now,” said Big Harry, “you’re a fine chap to talk; s’pose you do all the martyr wuck your own sen.”
“I’m ashamed on you,” cried Sim, as this proposal was met by a burst of cheers. “Isn’t theer one on you as will rise out of his sloth and slime, and prove hissen a paytriot. Didn’t I mak’ all the plans? Didn’t I invent the plot? Am I to do everything? Hevn’t I allays been scrarping about for the cause? Don’t let me blush for you all, and feel as there isn’t one as’ll come forward and lay the train. I’ll do it,” he continued, looking hard at Banks, who was staring at vacancy, “if no one else comes forward. I’ll go and wuck for the holy mission, as I did over the cooting o’ the bands, if there’s no other paytriot as rises to the height.”
Here there was a dead silence, and Barker broke it by saying—
“Had they not better draw lots?”
“Yes,” said Sim, enthusiastically.
“Not if I knows it,” said Big Harry, thrusting his hands further into his pockets.
“Say the plan ower again, mun,” said Banks, in a low voice. “No mouthin’, but joost the plan.”
“To climb in at the little window.”
“Yes.”
“Lay the powther under the middle wall.”