“The men must come out sooner or later, and when they do we will have a talk with them,” said the secretary. “My own opinion is that they will come out to-night at the usual hour, and I propose to act on that supposition. If I find I am wrong, we will meet again to-night, and I will have some proposals to make. In a short time we shall be able to learn whether the scabs are coming out or not. Meanwhile, get back among our own men, and advise them not to make any hostile demonstration when the blacklegs appear; and when the scabs come out, let each man of you persuade as many as you can to come to the big hall, where we can have a talk with them. Tell the men that if there is any violence they will be merely playing into Sartwell’s hands. We don’t want the police down on us, and, until there is a row, they will at least remain neutral.” This advice commended itself to all who heard it, and, the details of the programme having been ar ranged, they all departed for the scene of conflict. Promptly at six o’clock the gates were thrown open, and shortly after the “blacklegs” began to pour forth into the street. There were no hootings nor jeerings, but the strikers regarded the new-comers with scowling looks, while the latter seemed rather uncomfortable, many of them evidently apprehensive regarding their reception. “Men,” cried Gibbons, “who is your leader? I want a word with him.” The stream of humanity paused for a moment, in spite of the commands of the police to move along. The men looked at one another, and Gibbons quickly recognized the state of things--they were strangers to each other, coming as they did from all parts of England. This surmise was confirmed by one man, who spoke up: “We’ve got no leader,” he said. “Then you be the spokesman,” cried Gibbons. “Did you men know, when you came here, that there was a strike on?” “Something of that sort,” replied the spokesman, sullenly. “Do you belong to a Union?” “The Union never did nowt for us.” “Do you know that you are taking bread from the mouths of other workers?” “We must put bread into our own mouths.” At this point the police captain touched Gibbons on the shoulder. “I can’t allow this obstruction,” he said. “Give me two minutes,” pleaded Gibbons. “No--nor one.” Gibbons turned savagely upon him. “Look here,” he said. “Have some tact and sense. Don’t you know that I have merely to raise my hand and this crowd will sweep you and your men off the face of the earth?” “That won’t prevent me from sweeping you into prison.”