"Well, it appears that the fellows take their cue from two ringleaders. One of them’s a man named Stoneway, only been here about six months: I don’t know him. But I know the other chap--a carrot-headed fellow named Murgatroyd; Yorkshire, I suppose: the men call him Ginger. He’s been with us years: came as a boy. A rough customer, I can tell you: a jolly good workman, but a regular demon for mischief. All the same, you can’t help liking him. He’s a sportsman, too: good at boxing, a first-class forward, just the fellow you’d expect to be the first to go. Griggs told me he didn’t expect to see him back after his week’s holiday in August: but he turned up a day or two late, and backed up Stoneway against the governor. He’ll be sacked at the end of the week, sure as a gun." "Those two are the men you must tackle, then," said Kenneth. "Bring them round, and the rest will follow like sheep--or donkeys, ’led by the nose,’ as your Griggs says." "By the way, he told me the men are having a meeting in the yard at tea-time to discuss the governor’s threats. Shall we slip down and hear what they have to say?" "Our appearance might shut them up." "Not if I know our men--free and independent, don’t care a rap for anyone: you know the sort. They’d take a huge delight in letting us hear a few things about ourselves--idle rich, bloated capitalists and so on: which reminds me that I’ve got about twopence halfpenny. We’ll hear them spout, and tackle Stoneway and Ginger quietly afterwards." Shortly after four o’clock the two friends strolled into the works yard. Several hundreds of hands were there assembled, from engine boys and apprentices to grey seasoned veterans. The most of them had tea cans, some were smoking. At one end of the yard, standing on a tub, a stoutly built man of about thirty, with close cropped hair and thick brown beard and moustache, was haranguing the mob. Randall was recognised by some of the men, whose grins of greeting he acknowledged with nods. A whisper ran round: "The young governor!" It caught the ears of the man on the tub, who broke off his speech for a moment and glanced sharply at the two tall figures on the outskirts of the crowd. Then he resumed what was evidently a studied peroration. "Is this a free country, or is it not, mates?" he cried, with a sweeping arm. "If a man wants to fight, let him; I won’t say a word against it. But when it comes to forcing him, then I say he’s a slave, and all the talk about Britons never will be slaves is blankety rot, and I say that when an employer threatens to sack us or close the works because we don’t feel called on to turn ourselves into gun-fodder, I say he’s a nigger-driver and a tyrant. And what’s it for? Are we invaded? I’d defend my own home with any man. But what do we pay the navy for? That’s their job. What I say is, let the French and the Russians do their own fighting. It’s no business of ours." "What about Belgium?" cried one of the boys.