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Bully for you, sister!
THE WOMAN.
Don't you dare come home.
We ain't starved with you, you to sell yourself.
WES DICEY.
It's either go back, boys, or we'll be tramps.
HARVEY ANDERSON.
There's thousands of them off there good as you.
You'd sell your soul to Egerton for bread.
They keep theirs and go round the back door.
VOICE.
(_From the crowd_)
Well?
JIM KING.
Listen to me.
SAM WILLIAMS.
Comrades, they can't start up; They've not the men.
WES DICEY.
Suppose they _don't_ start up?
Suppose they shut down till the ice blocks there?
Then where'll we be?
JIM KING.
You'll hear the children cry.
HARVEY ANDERSON.
Shut up your mouths or, if you're married men, Let your wives speak. 'You'll hear the children cry!'
Where in the h.e.l.l do you hail from any way?
Or have they starved you till you've lost your grit?
HASKELL.
One minute.
VOICE.
(_From the crowd_)
Bread!
ANOTHER.
What will we do, Sam?
ANOTHER.
Vote!
SAM WILLIAMS.
I've said my last word.
WES DICEY.
We've no time to vote.
VOICE.
(_From afar, right_)
Wait!
JIM KING.
Be quick.
HARVEY ANDERSON.
Hold on!
WES DICEY.
Boys, suppose they say, 'First come, first served, and we don't need the rest'?
JIM KING.
(_Calling attention to the first flakes of snow_)
Look at these flakes, men!
(_There is a stampede for the gate_)
AN OLD WOMAN.
