[Jan begins again to play his whistle; Madge gets up; half tenderly she ruffles his hair; then, sitting, leans her elbows on the table, and her chin on her hands.  Behind her, on Mrs. Roberts’s face the smile has changed to horrified surprise.  She makes a sudden movement, sitting forward, pressing her hands against her breast.  Then slowly she sinks’ back; slowly her face loses the look of pain, the smile returns.  She fixes her eyes again on Jan, and moves her lips and finger to the tune.]

The curtain falls.

SCENE II

It is past four.  In a grey, failing light, an open muddy space is crowded with workmen.  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.] They can’t get them.  But that won’t help you.  Now men, be reasonable.  Your demands would have brought on us the burden of a dozen strikes at a time when we were not prepared for them.  The Unions live by justice, not to one, but all.  Any fair man will tell you—­you were ill-advised!  I don’t say you go too far for that which you’re entitled to, but you’re going too far for the moment; you’ve dug a pit for yourselves.  Are you to stay there, or are you to climb out?  Come!

Lewis. [A clean-cut Welshman with a dark moustache.] You’ve hit it, Mister!  Which is it to be?

     [Another movement in the crowd, and Rous, coming quickly, takes
     his stand next Thomas.]

Harness.  Cut your demands to the right pattern, and we ’ll see you through; refuse, and don’t expect me to waste my time coming down here again.  I ’m not the sort that speaks at random, as you ought to know by this time.  If you’re the sound men I take you for—­no matter who advises you against it—­[he fixes his eyes on Roberts] you ’ll make up your minds to come in, and trust to us to get your terms.  Which is it to be?  Hands together, and victory—­or—­the starvation you’ve got now?