“To the works!” was the cry, and there was a general movement in response to it. “No, men!” shouted Gibbons, his stentorian voice dominating the uproar. “Not to the works. Everyman home to-night, but be on the ground in the morning. We must not play into the enemy’s hands by any attempt at violence. To-morrow we will intercept Monkton and Hope, and demand our rights from them in person. Let them refuse at their peril. We’ll have no more dealings with Sartwell.” There was a cheer at this, and the meeting disbanded quietly. Next morning the men were out in force at the still closed gates, and there were angry threats against the manager. It was all right enough, they said, for Gibbons to counsel moderation, but the time for moderation was past. There was an increased body of police, who kept the crowd moving as much as was possible, having for the first time during the strike a most difficult task to perform. The strikers were in ugly temper, and did not obey orders or take pushes with the equanimity they had formerly displayed; but the police showed great forbearance, and evidently had instructions not to use their truncheons except as a last resort. Sartwell, knowing a crisis was at hand, had slept in his office, and the ever-increasing mob hooted when he did not appear at his usual time. Gibbons, by word and action, moving about everywhere, tried to keep his men in hand and prevent a conflict. They cheered him, but paid little attention to what he said. Shortly after ten o’clock, a hansom drove to the outskirts of the mob, and was received with a chorus of groans. Gibbons quickly stepped in front of it and addressed the occupant. “Mr. Hope----” he began. “Stand back there!” cried the officer in charge. “Mr. Hope,” cried Gibbons, “I want ten words with you.” Little Mr. Hope shrank into a corner of the hansom, speechless, his face as white as a sheet of paper. “Stand back, I say!” The officer pushed Gibbons, striking him with some force on the breast. “Let him answer. Will you speak for one minute with your men--the men who have made you rich?” “Stand back!” reiterated the officer, pushing him a step further. The hansom moved inch by inch nearer the gates. The crowd seethed like an uneasy sea, but every man held his breath. “Listen to me, Mr. Hope. Your men are starving. They ask only----” The officer pushed the speaker back once more. Gibbons’s heel caught on a cobble-stone, and he went down backwards.