The grievance speedily attained to the dimensions and importance of a grave scandal. Yet the authorities seemed determined that, kick and struggle against the pricks as the men might, they should submit to it. And the men, grown weary of complaining against the injustice, and losing all faith in the fairness of those over them, were equally resolved that it should not continue much longer without one last vigorous protest from them. The climax of indignation was reached one morning in March 1873, when the whole of the force were ordered as usual to stay behind their time. There were mails above and below in the Newspaper and Letter Branches, and tons of circulars waiting in reserve. The men rushed to their kitchens, and securing their articles of clothing, made for the principal exit leading to liberty and the Post-Office yard. This they found closed and bolted against them and guarded by a posse of overseers, the official doorkeeper, and numerous amateur policemen—constables disguised as sorters. They were sternly ordered back to their duties; but by this time, even if they would, they could not turn for those now pressing behind and thronging the lobby. The officials appeared on the scene and exhorted them not to disobey orders; but the murmurs that arose convinced them that at last the mutiny had come. The men demanded the door to be opened and the removal of the constables. They took it as an added insult that such Siberian methods should be put into force against them, for whatever their humble position in the public service, yet still they bore the name of free-born Englishmen. The officials, convinced they were acting within their right, refused and repeatedly ordered them to fall back. For half-an-hour or more the men, nearly a thousand strong by this time, endured it; the heat was oppressive in the closely-packed crowd, and the stubborn obstinacy of the men guarding the door was making the crowd excited. There were cries of execration, and from the rear came a hurricane of balls of twine with sticks of sealing-wax. The officials retreated to safer quarters, leaving the men guarding the door to carry out their duty or die. The lobby, which was a narrow neck of space leading from the Letter Branch to the coveted doorway, was becoming like the Black Hole of Calcutta, and many men were on the point of fainting. The doorkeepers were pale but determined, and stood with their backs to the coveted door. The situation was as serious to them as to the mutineers themselves. With the men the injustice of the official instruction to stay at their duties without pay might be sufficient to palliate their disobedience to it, especially when there were nearly a thousand of them to answer for it. But with those at the door it was slightly different; they had to do their duty, and they looked like men who were determined to sell their lives dearly if it came to it, though it is probable that if they could have trusted each other the bolt would