PULLEN. (Obstinately) It's all reeght, Mr. Livesey. None o' your strikes fur me. A can see through a ladder as clear as most. An' A'll tell thee summat as is mebbe news to thee. Theer's above a few as thinks along o' me, too, only they don't gas about it so loud as you.
LIVESEY. Very well, if theer are, theer'll be no strike. (Going up c. to door. Jones returns a little shamefacedly. The others avoid looking at him. He goes up to c.)
PULLEN. No. A 'll bet theer'll not.
LIVESEY. We'll soon see who's reeght.
JONES. Aye, coom on. Let's be startin' th' meetin'. (Crossing to door c.)
LIVESEY (consulting a silver watch). Wait a bit. Wheer's Mr. Bunting? We canna staryt wi'out 'im. Give us another five minutes. How's room? Open door theer and see.
JONES (opening door c. Confused murmur as of a crowd is heard through it). Pretty nigh packed. They'll noan thank us for bein' late.
LIVESEY. Close th' door.
(Jones closes the door and shuts off the sound, dropping R.C.)
LIVESEY. Tha'd best begin, Bob. A'll follow thee, an' Mr. Bunting can say 'is bit when A've done. Then we'll put it to the vote, strike or no strike.