“My money.”
“My cheque.”
“Change these notes.”
The time was many years ago, and there were no dozen or two of county constabulary to draft into the place for its protection. Hence it was that as Thickens stood, cool and silent, before the excited crowd, Sir Gordon, calm and stern, appeared in the doorway with a couple of pistols in his left hand, one held by the butt, the other by the barrel passed under his thumb.
“Silence!” he cried in a quick, commanding tone.
“I am prepared—”
“Yah! No speeches. Our money! Our—”
“Silence!” roared Sir Gordon. “We are waiting to pay all demands.”
“Hear, hear! Hooray!” shouted one of the farmers, who had come in hot haste, and his mottled face grew calm.
“But we can’t—”