CLAV. (nervously). Er—yes. I'd like to speak to Mr. Bunting first if you don't mind. Suppose you fellows go on to the platform and set the ball rolling. We'll follow.
JONES. All reeght. (A little awkwardly.) Tha'll noan be long wilta? We's none on us much at speakin' on our own, tha knows.
CHARLIE (reassuringly). Don't be afraid of me, I'll do the talking. If the men don't strike, it won't be my fault..
LIVESEY. That's the ticket. (Passing to door c.)
ALCOTT. Give it 'em hot, sir. (Following him.)
JONES. It will mean a lot coomin' from thee. (Following.)
CHARLIE. We'll do our best, both of us.
(Exeunt c. Livesey, Alcott and Jones. A burst of cheering is heard, then Jones closes the door.)
PULLEN. (following the others, stopping before Charlie) If this not above takin' a bit o' advice from me, Maister Banting, tha'll be careful what tha says about striking. Theer's me an' a good few others as 'ave put our yeads together, and we're gom to see as this business o' striking gets no forrader.
CHARLIE. (surprised). What's this? (Clavering paces about impatiently.)