The man slipped off the parapet, and stood looking very uncomfortable, for all his swagger, under the vicar's scrutiny.
"Now, then," said the vicar sharply, "what is it? what is your complaint?"
"We've struck," said two or three voices at once.
The vicar never once glanced at the graceless creatures still dangling their legs, though less aggressively; he addressed himself to Cadger.
"Oh, have you?" he said as calmly as he could. "What have you struck for?"
"More wages," said Cadger, glancing at his comrades for directions.
"Which you won't have," said the vicar quietly. He was quite calm now and very white. "You agreed for what was considered by yourselves, and by everybody else, a very generous wage. You have no right to ask more. I, for one, will certainly not advocate it. There is reason in all things, and money is not so plentiful in Willowton as you seem to think. I am disappointed in you, Cadger, particularly; I had thought better things of you. I fancied you, at least, were anxious to take your share in lessening the terrible trouble that has been put upon us; but I see now you only thought of your own interest. With my consent, I tell you honestly, you will not get a penny more."
"He! he!" laughed one or two of the men; but the vicar never looked round.
"But," he added, "I am only one. You can bring your complaint in proper form before the committee, and, of course, if the majority agree, what I say will not stand; so you have your remedy."
He walked away as he finished speaking, and Cadger sat down again. He did not say anything, for somehow or other, though he felt very valiant at first, he began now to feel rather small. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and then the stranger, whose name was Hayes, knocked the ashes out of his pipe against the root of a tree and spoke.