The men stand in
a mass in the way.)
OLIVER. Mind yourself, there. (Laughter.)
GERALD. Go ahead, Oliver.
VOICE. What's yer 'urry?
(Crowd sways and surges on the car. OLIVER is suddenly dragged out.
GERALD stands up--he, too, is seized from behind--he wrestles--is
torn out of his greatcoat--then falls--disappears. Loud cries--
"Hi!--hoi!--hoiee!"--all the while. The car shakes and presses
uneasily.)
VOICE. Stop the blazin' motor, somebody.
VOICE. Here y' are!--hold a minute. (A man jumps in and stops the
engine--he drops in the driver's seat.)
COLLIER (outside the car). Step down, miss.
ANABEL. I am Mrs. Barlow.
COLLIER. Missis, then. (Laugh.) Step done--lead 'er forrard. Take
'em forrard.
JOB ARTHUR. Ay, make a road.
GERALD. You're makin' a proper fool of yourself now, Freer.
JOB ARTHUR. You've brought it on yourself. YOU'VE made fools of
plenty of men.
COLLIERS. Come on, now--come on! Whoa!--whoa!--he's a jibber--go
pretty now, go pretty!
VOICES (suddenly). Lay hold o' Houghton--nab 'im--seize 'im--rats!--
rats!--bring 'im forrard!
ANABEL (in a loud, clear voice). I never knew anything so RIDICULOUS.
VOICES (falsetto). Ridiculous! Oh, ridiculous! Mind the step, dear!
--I'm Mrs. Barlow!--Oh, are you?--Tweet--tweet!
JOB ARTHUR. Make a space, boys, make a space, boys, make a space.
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