"I say, Fontenoy, here's a crowd! Do you suppose they know? Why, Gregson's taken us another way round!" Lord Fontenoy let down his window, and identified the small mining village of Battage. "Why did you bring us this way, Gregson?" he said to the coachman. The man, a Londoner, turned, and spoke in a low voice. "I thought we might find some rioting going on in Marraby, my lord. And now I see there's lots o' them out here!" Indeed, with the words he had to check his horses. The village street was full from end to end with miners just come up from work. Fontenoy at once perceived that the news of the election had arrived. The men were massed in large groups, talking and discussing, with evident and angry excitement, and as soon as the well-known liveries on the box of the new member's carriage were identified there was an instant rush towards it. Some of the men had already gone into their houses on either hand, but at the sound of the wheels and the uproar they came rushing out again. A howling hubbub arose, a confused sound of booing and groaning, and the carriage was soon surrounded by grimed men, gesticulating and shouting. "Yer bloated parasites, yer!" cried a young fellow, catching at the door-handle on Lord Fontenoy's side; "we'll make a d----d end o' yer afore we've done wi' yer. Who asked yer to come meddlin in Malford--d----n yer!" "Whativer do we want wi' the loikes o' yo representin us!" shouted another man, pointing at Tressady. "Look at 'im; ee can't walk, ee can't; mus be druv, poor hinnercent! When did yo iver do a day's work, eh? Look at my 'ands! Them's the 'ands for honest men--ain't they, you fellers?" There was a roar of laughter and approval from the crowd, and up went a forest of begrimed hands, flourishing and waving. George calmly put down the carriage-window, and, leaning his arms upon it, put his head out. He flung some good-humoured banter at some of the nearest men, and two or three responded. But the majority of the faces were lowering and fierce, and the horses were becoming inconveniently crowded. "Get on, Gregson," said Fontenoy, opening the front window of the brougham. "If they'll let me, your lordship," said Gregson, rather pale, raising his whip. The horses made a sudden start forward. There was a yell from the crowd, and three or four men had just dashed for the horses' heads, when a shout of a different kind ascended. "Burrows! 'Ere's Burrows! Three cheers for Burrows!" And some distance behind them, at the corner of the village street, Tressady suddenly perceived a tall dogcart drawing up with two men in it. It was already surrounded by a cheering and tumultuous assembly, and one of the men in the cart was shaking hands right and left. George drew in his head, with a laugh. "This is dramatic. They've stopped the horses, and here's Burrows!" Fontenoy shrugged his shoulders. "They'll blackguard us a bit, I suppose, and let us go. Burrows 'll keep them in order."