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ANABEL (in a loud, clear voice). I never knew anything so RIDICULOUS.
VOICES (falsetto). Ridiculous! Oh, ridiculous! Mind the step, dear!--I'm Mrs. Barlow!--Oh, are you?--Tweet--tweet!
JOB ARTHUR. Make a s.p.a.ce, boys, make a s.p.a.ce, boys, make a s.p.a.ce.
(He stands with prisoners in a cleared s.p.a.ce before the obelisk.) Now--now--quiet a minute--we want to ask a few questions of these gentlemen.
VOICES. Quiet!--quiet!--Sh-h-h! Sh-h-h!--Answer pretty--answer pretty now!--Quiet!--Shh-h-h!
JOB ARTHUR. We want to ask you, Mr. Gerald Barlow, why you have given occasion for this present trouble.
GERALD. You are a fool.
VOICES. Oh!--oh!--naughty Barlow!--naughty baa-lamb--answer pretty--be good baa-lamb--baa--baa!--answer pretty when gentleman asks you.
JOB ARTHUR. Quiet a bit Sh-h-h!--We put this plain question to you, Mr. Barlow. Why did you refuse to give the clerks this just and fair advance, when you knew that by refusing you would throw three thousand men out of employment?
GERALD. You are a fool, I say.
VOICES. Oh!--oh!--won't do--won't do, Barlow--wrong answer--wrong answer--be good baa-lamb--naughty boy--naughty boy!
JOB ARTHUR. Quiet a bit now!--If three thousand men ask you a just, straightforward question, do you consider they've no right to an answer?
GERALD. I would answer you with my foot.
VOICES (amid a threatening scuffle). Da-di-da! Hark ye--hark ye!
Oh--whoa--whoa a bit!--won't do!--won't do!--naughty--naughty--say you're sorry--say you're sorry--kneel and say you're sorry--kneel and beg pardon!
JOB ARTHUR. Hold on a bit--keep clear!
VOICES. Make him kneel--make him kneel--on his knees with him!
JOB ARTHUR. I think you'd better kneel down.
(The crowd press on GERALD--he struggles--they hit him behind the knees, force him down.)
OLIVER. This is shameful and unnecessary.
VOICES. All of 'em--on your knees--all of' em--on their knees!
(The seize OLIVER and WILLIE and ANABEL, hustling. ANABEL kneels quietly--the others struggle.)
WILLIE. Well, of all the d.a.m.ned, dirty, cowardly---
VOICES. Shut up, Houghton--shut him up--squeeze him!
OLIVER. Get off me--let me alone--I'll kneel.
VOICES. Good little doggies--nice doggies--kneel and beg pardon--yap-yap--answer--make him answer!
JOB ARTHUR (holding up his hand for silence). It would be better if you answered straight off, Barlow. We want to know why you prevented that advance.
VOICES (after a pause). Nip his neck! Make him yelp!
OLIVER. Let me answer, then.--Because it's worse, perhaps, to be bullied by three thousand men than by one man.
VOICES. Oh!--oh!--dog keeps barking--stuff his mouth--stop him up--here's a bit of paper--answer, Barlow--nip his neck--stuff his mug--make him yelp--cork the bottle!
(They press a lump of newspaper into OLIVER'S mouth, and bear down on GERALD.)
JOB ARTHUR. Quiet--quiet--quiet a minute, everybody. We give him a minute--we give him a minute to answer.
VOICES. Give him a minute--a holy minute--say your prayers, Barlow--you've got a minute--tick-tick, says the clock--time him!
JOB ARTHUR. Keep quiet.
WILLIE. Of all the d.a.m.ned, cowardly---
VOICES. Sh-h-h!--Squeeze him--throttle him! Silence is golden, Houghton.--Close the shutters, Willie's dead.--Dry up, wet whiskers!
JOB ARTHUR. You've fifteen seconds.
VOICES. There's a long, long trail a-winding---
JOB ARTHUR. The minute's up.--We ask you again, Gerald Barlow, why you refused a just and fair demand, when you know it was against the wishes of three thousand men all as good as yourself.
VOICES. And a sight better--I don't think--we're not all vermin--we're not all crawlers, living off the sweat of other folks--we're not all parish vermin--parish vermin.
JOB ARTHUR. And on what grounds do you think you have no occasion to answer the straightforward question we put you here?
ANABEL (after a pause). Answer them, Gerald. What's the use of prolonging this?
GERALD. I've nothing to answer.
VOICES. Nothing to answer--Gerald, darling--Gerald, duckie--oh, lovey-dovey--I've nothing to answer--no, by G.o.d--no, by G.o.d, he hasna--nowt to answer--ma'e him find summat, then--answer for him--gi'e him's answer--let him ha'e it--go on--mum--mum--lovey-dovey--rub his nose in it--kiss the dirt, ducky--bend him down--rub his nose in--he's saying something--oh, no, he isn't--sorry I spoke--bend him down!
JOB ARTHUR. Quiet a bit--quiet everybody--he's got to answer--keep quiet.--Now---- (A silence.) Now then, Barlow, will you answer, or won't you? (Silence.)
ANABEL. Answer them, Gerald--never mind.
VOICES. Sh-h-h! Sh-h-h! (Silence.)
JOB ARTHUR. You won't answer, Barlow?
