EVANS. He wants ye to turn blacklegs, that's what he wants. He wants ye to go back on us. Sooner than turn blackleg—I 'd starve, I would.
BULGIN. Who's talkin' o' blacklegs—mind what you're saying, will you?
BLACKSMITH. [A youth with yellow hair and huge arms.] What about the women?
EVANS. They can stand what we can stand, I suppose, can't they?
BLACKSMITH. Ye've no wife?
EVANS. An' don't want one!
THOMAS. [Raising his voice.] Aye! Give us the power to come to terms with London, lads.
DAVIES. [A dark, slow-fly, gloomy man.] Go up the platform, if you got anything to say, go up an' say it.
[There are cries of "Thomas!" He is pushed towards the platform; he ascends it with difficulty, and bares his head, waiting for silence. A hush.]
RED-HAIRED YOUTH. [suddenly.] Coot old Thomas!