I think you'd better kneel down.
(The crowd press on GERALD--he struggles--they hit him behind the
knees, force him down.)
OLIVER. This is shameful and unnecessary.
VOICES. All of 'em--on your knees--all of' em--on their knees!
(The seize OLIVER and WILLIE and ANABEL, hustling. ANABEL kneels
quietly--the others struggle.)
WILLIE. Well, of all the damned, dirty, cowardly---
VOICES. Shut up, Houghton--shut him up--squeeze him!
OLIVER. Get off me--let me alone--I'll kneel.
VOICES. Good little doggies--nice doggies--kneel and beg pardon--
yap-yap--answer--make him answer!
JOB ARTHUR (holding up his hand for silence). It would be better if
you answered straight off, Barlow. We want to know why you prevented
that advance.
VOICES (after a pause). Nip his neck! Make him yelp!
OLIVER. Let me answer, then.--Because it's worse, perhaps, to be
bullied by three thousand men than by one man.
VOICES. Oh!--oh!--dog keeps barking--stuff his mouth--stop him up--
here's a bit of paper--answer, Barlow--nip his neck--stuff his mug--
make him yelp--cork the bottle!
(They press a lump of newspaper into OLIVER'S mouth, and bear down on
GERALD.)
JOB ARTHUR. Quiet--quiet--quiet a minute, everybody. We give him a
minute--we give him a minute to answer.
VOICES. Give him a minute--a holy minute--say your prayers, Barlow--
you've got a minute--tick-tick, says the clock--time him!
JOB ARTHUR.
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