“Well said, Harry; well said,” cried Tom Podmore, bringing his hand down on the hammerman’s shoulder with a tremendous slap. “Well said. Hooray!”
There was a tremendous burst of cheering, and it was some little time before Mrs Glaire could again make herself heard.
“I cannot do that,” she said, “but I will talk matters over with my son, and you shall have fair play, if you will give us fair play in return.”
“That’s all very well,” cried a shrill voice; and Sim Slee and his red waistcoat were once more seen above the heads of the crowd, for, put out of the gates, he had managed to mount the wall; “but what we want to know, as an independent body of sittizens, is—”
“Will some on yo’ get shoot of that chap, an’ let Missus speak,” cried Tom Podmore.
There was a bit of a rush, and Sim Slee disappeared suddenly, as if he had been pulled down by the legs.
“I don’t think I need say any more,” said Mrs Glaire, “only to ask you all to come quietly back to work, and I promise you, in my son’s name—”
“No, no, in yours,” cried a dozen.
“Well,” said Mrs Glaire, “in my own and your dead master’s name—that you shall all have justice.”
“That’s all raight, Missus,” cried Harry. “Three more cheers for the Missus, lads!”