After another minute of it, Arnold said, “Since they’re so ready to listen, why shouldn’t they listen to me for a change?” and scrambled up on to a cart full of barrels and stood for a moment looking round. The speaker went on speaking, but someone cried, “Here’s another chap with something to say. Let ’im say it, mate; go on, young feller.” Arnold did go on. He had certainly got something to say, and he said it. For a minute or two the caustic quality of his utterances was missed; then it was slowly apprehended. Someone groaned, and someone else shouted, “Chuck it. Pull him down.” Arnold had a knack of biting and disagreeable speech, and he was using it. He was commenting on the weak points in the other man’s speech. But if he had thought to persuade any, he was disillusioned. Like an audience of old, they cried out with a loud voice, metaphorically stopped their ears, and ran at him with one accord. Someone threw a brick at him. The next moment hands dragged him down and hustled him away. A voice Eddy recognised as Webb’s cried, “Fair play; let ’im speak, can’t you. ’E was talking sense, which is more than most here do.” The scuffling and hustling became excited and violent. It was becoming a free fight. Blacklegs were surrounded threateningly by strikers; the police drew nearer. Eddy pushed through shoving, angry men to get to Arnold. They recognised him as Arnold’s companion, and hustled him about. Arnold was using his fists. Eddy saw him hit a man on the mouth. Someone kicked Eddy on the shin. He shot out his fist mechanically, and hit the man in the face, and thought, “I must have hurt him a lot, what a lot of right he’s got on his side,” before the blow was returned, cutting his lip open. He saw Arnold disappear, borne down by an angry group; he pushed towards him, jostling through the men in his way, who were confusedly giving now before the mounted police. He could not reach Arnold; he lost sight of where he was; he was carried back by the swaying crowd. He heard a whimpering boy’s voice behind him, “Mr. Oliver, sir,” and looked round into young Sid Webb’s sick, frightened face. “They’ve downed dad.... And I think they’ve done for him.... They kicked him on the head.... They’re after me now----”