Beyond, divided from it by a
barbed-wire fence, is the raised towing-path of a canal, on which
is moored a barge. In the distance are marshes and snow-covered
hills. The "Works" high wall runs from the canal across the open
space, and ivy the angle of this wall is a rude platform of
barrels and boards. On it, HARNESS is standing. ROBERTS, a
little apart from the crowd, leans his back against the wall. On
the raised towing-path two bargemen lounge and smoke
indifferently.
HARNESS. [Holding out his hand.] Well, I've spoken to you straight.
If I speak till to-morrow I can't say more.
JAGO. [A dark, sallow, Spanish-looking man with a short, thin
beard.] Mister, want to ask you! Can they get blacklegs?
BULGIN. [Menacing.] Let 'em try.
[There are savage murmurs from the crowd.]
BROWN. [A round-faced man.] Where could they get 'em then?
EVANS. [A small, restless, harassed man, with a fighting face.]
There's always blacklegs; it's the nature of 'em. There's always men
that'll save their own skins.
[Another savage murmur. There is a movement, and old THOMAS,
joining the crowd, takes his stand in front.]
HARNESS. [Holding up his hand.
Pages:
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242